Aedan Calahan and the Silver Hand

Chapter 14

Four weeks had passed since that night.

As they entered the end of October, the weather turned brisk. The trees around the school became a wild array of different colors. Aedan was stricken every time he came across the trail of trees with only red leaves. Every morning the ground was covered in frost, a sign that every Irishman simultaneously dreaded and loved. Fall was here but winter was coming.

The first few weeks, Aedan walked the drafty corridors that were now familiar to him with his head down. The whispers of Aedan Calahan and Callum Clark persisted long enough for the two to cement themselves as polarized figures. Once the noise surrounding their defeat of one-hundred zombies had vanished, talks of the first hurling matches blossomed.

Willow vs. Yew was tonight, followed by the match everyone was dying to see the next morning. Rowan vs. Ash. New Big Brother vs. Old Little Brother.

Ash's preparation was going well. Aedan was too small to play guard, so it was immediately assumed by the team he would play forward. He was good, earning his spot as a starter from the first practice on. But Laguna had other plans. His quick, precise hands and reaction speed earned him a spot as goalkeeper, the worst position in the sport. If he saved the ball—well, that was his job. No applause there. But if he failed, he was solely responsible. He would receive the blame for every lose, while the forewords would be praised and celebrated for every win.

Transmigration proved to be his favorite class, mainly because of the poets. The Quinn twins, as the students called them, were excellent teachers, opposites in their approach to teaching in some regards, and totally aligned in others. There was growing resentment towards the class, however, from the other students, especially in Ash. It had been over a month and they still hadn't moved on past learning to "be the sheep." Even Callum, the prodigious sheep whisperer, was growing frustrated.

Aedan grunted a goodbye to Callum and Shannon and made his way upstairs to be punished. He knocked lightly on Poet Kevya's slightly opened door, a dim glow creeping out beyond the crack.

"Come in," she called.

"Good evening, Poet Kevya," Aedan said.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that," she replied. She was tinkering with something behind her floating ethereal desk. The chair she sat on was nothing but a ghostly outline. "Call me 'Professor.' Poet Kevya is an unnecessary mouthful. Shut the door."

Aedan did so and when he returned, she was busy sorting out a leather-bound tome and a journal and a quill on a desk.

"Sit. Good. As punishment, I want a report on King Nuada. Everything you need is in this book right here. The report will address three questions I have and provide in depth answers for each."

She proceeded to explain the directions to Aedan, who soaked up the task miserably.

"No less than ten-thousand words," she said, turning her back. She returned to tinkering behind her desk. "You may begin."

Aedan toiled until his neck cramped and his eyes were watering. What had he learned? A bunch of useless facts, in his opinion. King Nuada was the leader of a group of gods called the Tuatha Dé Danann that used to rule over Ireland and Scotland. He remembered the name from the bookshop. Back then, he was desperate to learn more about the group of gods. Now that he was forced to learn, the topic didn't seem so interesting. Perhaps, it would have been, if he wasn't so focused on the hurling match tonight, as well as the hardship caused by the eye-bleeding technique this author tried to pass off as writing.

"You may leave everything there," Poet Kevya said, without looking up. "I'll see you a week from today, same time."

It was time.