Gift of Gold (The Year of Churning Bloods) (24 page)

             
“Now try these,” Umber said hovering above a small dish of fish, resting in lemon oil.

              “Anchovies Umber?” I laughed loudly. “We had these in the orphanage almost every night. This is probably the worst tasting food you can find around here . I can guarantee you won’t like them.” Umber frowned, and stubbornly clung to the area just above their plate. “Alright, alright.” I sighed and drew out one of the small fish with my fork. Slipping it into my mouth, I chewed exactly three times, before swallowing and shuddering at its vivid flavour. Umber’s pupils widened.  “Look Umber, I told you you wouldn’t-”

              “That was
delicious!
” he interrupted loudly. My entire heart fell.

              “You can’t be serious,” I stated in disbelief.

              “Oh but I am!” Umber responded gleefully. “Aside from bacon, these things might be my favorite food yet!” I took a sip of water to cleanse my palate, however the thick oil of the fish clung to my mouth like glue. “Have another one,” Umber insisted.

              “No,” I said after considering his request for a second.

              “Have another one,” Umber demanded with a dangerous quiver to his voice. Reluctantly, I plucked out another fish and swallowed it whole. It slid down my throat like a slithering slimy snake. “That was too fast,” Umber complained. “Chew it for at least five seconds. I want to savour the flavor.”

              “Promise you’ll leave me alone if I do this for you?” I asked, holding up the third and final anchovy for extra emphasis.

              “Yes yes!” Umber responded eagerly. “Just do it!” Reluctantly, I popped the final one in between my teeth and quickly mashed. Umber soundlessly quivered on the spot. After I had pushed the remaining fish a considerable distance from me, I reached into my pants pocket and removed the timetable which the professor had given to me.

             
“Timetable for Jacob Ofpacis

              7:45   Breakfast                         -- Dining hall

             
8:00   Tier one sword skills       -- The Etaporium

             
13:00 Tier one distortion           -- The Montrose room

             
14:00 Lunch                                           -- Dining hall

             
14:30 Magical identification I   -- The Wallace room

             
15:30 Historical warfare I         -- The Knox room

              “What in the world is an Etaporium?” I asked, completely befuddled by the sound the words made. Umber didn’t respond, leading me to believe he was too proud to admit he didn’t know. As if in answer to my question, I flipped the timetable over, and saw an additional note written in a handwriting I recognised almost immediately.

“An Etaporium is what the Grimlars call that big circular building south of the cathedral. It serves as the main training hall, as well as a functioning coliseum. You will need to bring your weapon, and any armour you might have.

Also, I’ve included a map of the school, in case you ever lose your way.”

-W-

I laughed under my breath. “He knows me even better than I do,” I remarked, sliding the paper back into my pocket. Umber groaned.

“And you somehow find that reassuring?” Umber asked in disbelief. I didn’t respond and instead went up to my room to gather my armour and sword. Following the professor’s directions, I soon found myself facing the giant Etaporium.

The Etaporium was divided into six colossal levels, each held in place by a group of proud looking marble statues. Stepping inside the enclosure, I was swallowed whole by a ring of seats which stretched all the way up to the top of the roofless building. In the center of this, was a worn gravel area where trainees were loudly attacking each other with wooden poles. The ruthless way they fought startled me greatly. Scabs opened up, bruises formed and people fell to the ground. Nobody asked for mercy, probably because they knew they wouldn’t get any. I stared uncomfortably for maybe five minutes before I heard a voice behind me.

“And you are?”

I turned and locked eyes with an elder about my height, but nearly three times my width. “Jacob Ofpacis.” I mumbled timidly.

The elder sent me a punch that nearly tore my shoulder off. “Speak up!” He roared, sending me a punch that practically tore my shoulder off. “A commander has never ordered in a voice that cannot be heard! A warrior has never given a battle cry that doesn't strike fear into the hearts of men, mages and beasts alike! Do you understand!?”

“Yes sir.” I said, quickly trying to regain the senses in my left arm. The elder socked me in the right arm this time.

“Do you understand!?” He tried again.

“Yes sir!” I coughed loudly, holding back tears. He considered this briefly.

“You ever fought with a sword before?”

“Once sir!” I clarified powerfully. As I did so, I strained to push a little more volume out then the last time. The elder seemed surprised.

“Well you must have done something right, seeing as you survived. That’s lesson number one! Survive at all costs!”

“Thank you sir!” Immediately after this had left my lips, another stunning blow was delivered to my left arm. I coughed instinctively, and sunk to my knees.

“Lesson number two!” The Elder said, bending over to shout in my ear.“Never thank anybody but your yourself. Now, just to make sure you were listening, what’s lesson number one?”

“Survive at all costs!” I shouted, not at all keen to meet another punch.

“What’s lesson number two?”

“Umm...” I glanced up at the elder, who was rubbing his fist with his palm. He eyed me dangerously. “Never thank anybody but yourself!!” I bellowed quickly. The elder nodded in deep thoughtful agreement.

“What’s lesson number three?” The elder asked with a sinister smile.

“I... I don’t know sir.”

The elder quickly grabbed me around the neck and brought his knee into my stomach. I fell to the ground doubled over, unable to breath. A weak trickle of vomit crept past my lips and onto the dusty earth for everyone to see.

“Lesson number three! Not knowing is not an excuse! Now suit up! We have a lot of work to do!” As I scampered off where his fat finger was pointing, I couldn’t help but wonder how on earth Preston had managed to put up with this for so long.

Chapter nine

The
Legion of the Montrose

For fear the beastly battles won,

To do but fear to be undone,

And may it though not be so fun,

Before we walk, we’ll one day run.

Three hours later, and it seemed like my entire front and back was covered in thick blue welts. As I stumbled towards the area marked on the map as the Montrose room, all I could do to mask the pain was mutter fierce complaints under my breath. A few minutes later and I found myself facing an old looking door engraved with nearly illegible calligraphy that stopped me dead in my tracks. Squinting very deeply, I eventually managed to decipher the thin scratches.

Mind the thoughts,

As thoughts make minds

Think of all the wisen you’ll find

Infantiles, Juveniles

all alike as Pilomaths,

Come inside to undertake

A wonder of it all.

Knowledge grows,

By the nights so fair

Singing Montrose in the air

Who not knows not,

Of what will come to rot

Either way we spend our lives

The knowledge will survive.

Flummoxed by the meaning behind this message, I would have stayed there all day trying to figure it out had Umber not ordered me in. I walked into the classroom space and locked eyes with the professor.

“
Ah Jacob. You found us. Please take a seat.” I did as he asked, and sat next to Sebastian who beamed with pride.

Standing up from his desk, the professor produced a small piece of white chalk and began to write on a nearby slate:”

“Principles of distortion abilities:

moving, not making

mimicking, not faking

knowing, not trusting”

“
Now then.” The professor said, ending the last word with a sharp click of the chalk against the board. “Would someone like to explain what I’m saying with this little proverb? Let’s start with the first line, what do I mean by ‘moving not making?” A few hands shot up simultaneously. In response, the professor closed his eyes and selected one at random.

“You can’t make or destroy matter,” Nestor said, quickly standing up. You can only make it change it’s shape.” He bowed slightly and resumed his seat.

“Excellent explanation Nestor,” the professor responded, bowing politely in turn. “That brings us onto the next line. ‘Mimicking, not faking.’ Who thinks they understand what’s being said right there?” The largest one of the group, Pasha stood up next and clutched at his shirt buttons self-consciously.

“Well, we can make one object into another by changing how the particles are arranged. And umm... They’re called mimics, because for a brief period of time they’re  exactly identical to the thing being copied.” Pasha was about to plonk right back into his seat when the professor stopped him.

“At what cost though?”

Pasha scratched his head uncertainly for a moment before leaping back to attention. “You have to have the object you want to mimic nearby. Also, mimicked objects will go back normal once you stop using anti-magic.”

The Professor nodded in agreement. “Yes, well put. I remember that a few years ago a student tried to turn stone into chocolate. He believed he wasn’t getting enough desert and thought he’d just make himself more.” Professor Wenchenberg chucked and wiped the corner of one eye. “Unfortunately for him, it took the nurses two weeks to get all of the gravel out of his stomach,” Professor Wenchenberg leaned onto the back of his heels before pointing to the board. “Final line Jacob. What does it mean to know and not trust?”

I scratched my neck, feeling suddenly hot around the collar. Why did everyone else have to look at me while I thought? Why did Wenchenberg have to save the weirdest line for me?

“It means... I don’t know.” I said plainly.

The whole room fell into an uncomfortable silence as Professor Wenchenberg appraised me with raised eyebrows.

“Not knowing is not a problem,” he replied after a while. “There’s a lot we don’t know.”

“I still don’t follow,” I admitted, knotting my eyebrows.

“Alright, let me explain it a different way.” Professor Wenchenberg began, clearing his throat. “I have some chocolates in my pocket which I’m willing to give up if you are all well behaved.”

Everyone in the class straightened up at the mention of food, which seemed to amuse the professor very much.

“The truth of the matter is I have no chocolate,” Professor Wenchenberg admitted, folding out both pockets while the rest of the class groaned in dismay. “I never had any chocolates, yet you all trusted that I had. Trust is a dangerous thing you know,” he added, looking briefly in my direction. “If people put enough trust in you, then you can do anything.”

“What does this have to do with distortion anti-magic?” I asked, carefully placing my hand into the air.

“A lot of us trust that anti-magic will help us. Only a few use it to its fullest potential. Does this make sense?”