The Scholar's Tale (Original Fantasy)

Book I, Chapter 10

"If you have three or more people in the same place, chances are at least two of them will start measuring sizes. Gender is irrelevant."-The Bladefiend;

'If I may ask, how did such an illustrious personage as yourself come across such a formidable party of adventurers?' I asked the Swordsaint after the Ghyrrians stopped sighing their hearts out.

She looked over her shoulder, an amused grin on her face. Sahmui scowled.

'We met in a tavern,' he said, in a tone that suggested he had given that answer countless time in the past, and expected to keep giving it in the future.

Arhanne nodded rapidly. 'Yeah, yeah! See, we needed someone who knew Midworld like the back of their hand, but who was also strong enough to handle themselves. We can't take care of deadweights, no offense Shai.'

The homunculi waved a huge hand and rumbled dismissively. It sounded oddly musical.

Arhanne's head snapped around from her companion to us. She fixed me with an intense stare. 'It's an old joke, an inside joke, you see? We call him deadweight 'cause he's big and heavy and dead, no offense Shai.'

Shaiam also turned to look, if he had eyes, and nodded heavily.

'Anyway,' Lhansyl cut in, an annoyed frown on his face. 'We met the Swordsaint. Even in Ghyrria, we hear tales of her prowess. We knew she was trustworthy and skilled, but someone needed to test her mettle.'

He shot a meaningful look at Sahmui, whose scowl deepened. The swordsman didn't say anything, so his second went on.

'They went to this island to duel. Three hundred thousand square kilometers, covered in mountains whose peaks you couldn't see if you looked at them on the horizon. People called it "Ridgeland".'

I must admit I never heard of that island. Hmm...

'Called it Ridgeland? What's it called now?' Mharra asked. He always liked a good story, especially if fights were involved.

'Pebbles,' Lhansyl said. 'You can't fight like they did and not change the face of the world.'

Absently, I wondered how Ib would do against the Swordsaint or the Ghyrrian swordsman. From what I knew of it, I didn't like its chances... but then, I hardly knew much about Ib.

'Midworld is.... it's fascinating, really,' Sahmui said, pointedly ignoring the story about his duel. I noticed no one said who had won. 'Since we've come here, I've been able to kill several smug bastards while they were monologuing. You have no idea how annoying it is to try that back home...'

The Ghyrrians nodded sagely. I imagined it must be strange for them, not being compelled to act like carricatures so that some upjumped freaks could amuse themselves.

'You say you are traveling showmen,' the swordsman said, rising from his seat. 'In Ghyrria, your ilk are opportunists, as likely to help heroes as hinder them. If we are to remain in your hospitality,' I could hear the air quotes. 'We must be sure of your past deeds and future intentions.'

As Sahmui stepped forward, his eyes changed. I couldn't help but look into them, and suddenly, I was drowning in memories.

Copper's Cradle was a small, quiet island, named for its rich copper mines. My people had delved into them for decades, and the reserves did not appear to be ending.

As such, I was shocked when my father Gharzov announced that we would be leaving the Cradle, and never returning. It was the only placed I had ever known in my ten years of life.

'But why?' I asked. It was evening. I had returned from the mine, and my father was waiting for my daily report. Not for questions whose answers, he later told me, should be obvious. He struck me, and I fell backwards, hitting my head on the bare floor. My teeth felt loose, and my mouth was bleeding, but that seemed to be it. Father was feeling gentle tonight.

I heard light footsteps behind and above me. When I looked, I saw my mother Frelzha looking down on me, arms crossed, a disappointed look on her face. She did not say anything, only looked meaningfully at me, like she always did when I did something wrong.

'Have you lost your wits, boy? Do you think the world is going to spare this island because you're too damned stupid to understand the tides are unforgiving?' Gharzov asked, standing above me, fists on his hips.

'I... I k-know that. B-But...we have so many mages....couldn't we cast a spell to defend-' I began carefully, trying not to touch my cracked teeth with my tongue. Father kicked me in the chin.

'So, instead of sailing to another island where our mages' skills can be put to good, proper use, we should waste them on a child's half-baked idea, which might not even work?'

And then, the true beating began.

The next day, my people left the island. I remained on it until the last moment, hoping my attachment to the Cradle would sway someone, anyone, perhaps even nature.

Even as the tides hammered the island, filling me with terror, I could hear my father mocking me from his ship, saying that, if I loved the place so much, I should die with it. And I would have, had a mage not taken pity on me and teleported me to my parents' ship. They were so pleased to see me, I wasn't even unconscious when they were done.

Later that evening, I asked my mother why they always beat me, even when, as far as I could tell, I wasn't guilty of anything. Certainly the other children were punished less for worse blunders.

'Pain will reveal your true self,' my mother said enigmatically, then left my cabin. I lay on the swaying bed-was that the ship's movement, or was I just dizzy?- thinking of how everything had changed. Eventually, I fell into a dreamless sleep. I did not feel rested when I woke up.

And so went things for the next three years. The people of lost Copper's Cradle sailed Midworld, briefly staying on this or that island until we were forced to leave due to natural disaster, lack of resources or disagreement with the locals. I always tried not to grow attached to my new, temporary homes, and sometimes, I even succeeded.

My disdain for my parents grew, twisting into hatred. My father was a hardworking man, and looked after the community, so his behaviour in his home was his own business, in the people's opinion. My mother was a teacher and healer-probably the only reason I was still alive-and didn't always join when father was disciplining me. But when she did...

Mages often develop their powers in moments of great passion. I like to imagine my quiet anger helped with that. I learned to share my pain, first with insects, then with mice and, finally, with our old family dog. The poor thing was blind and lame, so I thought to put him out of his misery. My parents never learned I was responsible for his death, but I was punished anyway.

Pain will reveal your true self, indeed. But they had never known who I truly was.

So, one evening, inside our home on our newest island, I came up to the common room. The stairs creaked and groaned as I ascended up them. My parents' bones would do so as well. Soon.

'Father? Mother? I... I have something I thing I should share with you,' I said. My parents rose from their chairs, walking to stand around me. Close enough that I could be punished if I needed to be.

'What have you done this time, boy?' My mother asked in an exasperated tone. I did not answer. I just clasped their hands, and let them known my pain.

All the beatings. All the heartache, for the lost homes and the affection I had felt towards them. All the torments I had visited upon myself in secret, hoping it would increase my magic power.

All that flooded their minds at once, and they could not scream, not even whimper. They fell to the floor, writhing and shaking in an agony greater than any seizure. Their eyes had rolled so that only the whites were visible now, and they were frothing at the mouth. I prayed they were still aware of themselves. Surely Vhaarn would grant me this request, at least?

I turned my back on them, and ran, not looking back. I ran until I reached the docks and hopped into a spare steamboat. Tapping into my gift to remember moments of rest, I set sail. I sailed until morning and the next evening, never letting go of my Gift, remaining aware and rested so I could steer the boat.

No doubt, my people had found my handiwork by now. Perhaps they had even set sail in pursuit of me...but they could never reach me. None of them could keep up with me, enhanced by magic as I was, and none of our mages had gifts suited for tracking or pursuing.

And so began my lone journey across Midworld. I was careful to never reveal my gift-enough people wanted to exploit a young boy even if he lacked magic- and to change my name and appearance as often as I could. You never knew who could become interested in you.

Now, I was-

'Ryzhan Yldii,' Sahmui spat my true name like a curse, dragging me back into reality. I was familiar with the tone. 'How can these people,' he gestured at my crewmates, who looked as stunned as I felt. Had he used his power on them as well? 'Bear your presence, you hypocritical bastard?'

I did not answer. My hands were clenching and unclenching, and I could not wait to grab hold of this sanctimonious son of a bitch. Was this what being tormented by memories felt like?

'Oh?' Sahmui said, a smug smile creeping across his face. 'You haven't told them yet?'

END OF BOOK I