Chapter 19
In Elven culture, half-breeds are frowned upon. Yet, a taboo exists that makes no sense to outsiders: an Elf of one breed may not reproduce with an Elf of another. Children of two breeds are called Elven-Miscegens and are reviled, thought of as abominations due to a prophecy that says a Elven-Miscegen will aid in the end of a nation.
Day 108, Quenchenday
Today was the first day back after a week of rest. I had gotten better acquainted with Ferris and did plenty of training with Rose and Nel. We walked to the dining hall as a group.
“Come on, Iver, there’s no way you’re gonna beat anyone with those twig arms. That strike last week was a fluke,” Rose said with a dismissive wave.
“Don’t be so mean, Rose. Iver could totally make it into the Crimson Blade if he tries,” Nel defended, mock-punching her shoulder.
“Whatever. Iver can make it into the Crimson Blade if I can make it into the Silent Heart,” Ferris boasted, his nose high.
I had spent a lot of time talking with Ferris. It took effort, but I managed to convince him no one in the group was going to attack him. But he still felt he had something to prove, hiding any weakness.
“Oh, come on, Ferris, no need to act so hoity-toity,” Rose sniped.
“I’m not being hoity-toity,” he shot back, and I wasn’t sure if he was joking or offended.
“I like your faith, Ferris,” I spoke up, “but we need to step up our game, especially after today, if Mystagogue Thrasher was telling the truth.”
“Oh, he was,” Rose confirmed with a wicked smile. “You kids are in for some serious hell that won’t stop until you graduate.”
“Care to elaborate?” Nel asked with a deadpan tone.
Rose gave an over-exaggerated roll of her wrist. “Sadly, I cannot. And my woe goes out to you,” she spoke with an overly dramatic accent. “Anyway, you need to get to the auditorium, and I need to get to class, so, toodles, my dear chitlins!” With that, she bounded off.
“We aren’t your kids! You’re only a year older, dreckhead!” Nel shouted after her.
“Really? Dreck? Are you a slum-slicker now? Why not just say ‘shithead’?” I mocked, ribbing her with an elbow.
We passed down the entry hall, bickering.
“What exactly do you mean by ‘within reason’?” Nel asked.
“Oh, come on. Would you walk up to a Mystagogue and call them a shit-licking cock-fucker?”
“Well, no,” she sounded uncertain.
“Are you crazy?!” Ferris burst out. “I come from a noble family. Saying something like that to a noble can get you executed or challenged to a duel. Hells, you might even start a war between houses.”
Nel and I turned to him as if he were mad. “What?!” we said in unison.
The normally aggressive Elf lowered his head. “Well, technically, I’m a bastard. The Stillwind family is a well-known noble house in Evarra. I’m a Elven-Miscegen, a half-breed between two kinds of Elves. My mother is a High Elf of house Stillwind; my father is a Wild Elf warchief. And you know how Elves think about Elven-Miscegens.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard they treat your kind worse than trash,” Nel commented.
“I was lucky enough to avoid torture, but they pressed me into the rest. My mother would often throw berserk fits, breaking everything and forcing me to clean up. She’s a well-known painter, so cleaning up flung paint became a regular duty. Nobles are nothing more than pompous pricks who rage when they don’t get their way. My mother often let guests beat me for things as small as their soup being too cold.” As Ferris spoke, his eyes stared unseeingly at his feet.
“I don’t get it. Why would she be so cruel? I thought a mother was supposed to be loving.”
“You’re not missing anything, Iver,” Nel reassured me. “It has less to do with her being a mother and more with culture because he’s a Elven-Miscegen.”
Ferris nodded viciously. “Yeah. Elves are fixated on bloodlines. Marriages aren’t for love; they’re for producing strong children, business partnerships, acquiring land or money. And Elven children are a rare sight.”
“So children are sacred,” Nel summed up.
“Exactly. So Half-Elves are frowned upon, like watering down fine wine. Cross-breeding with other Elven breeds is like mixing whiskey with red wine.”
“I’m assuming that’s a gross mix?” I asked.
“I only make that analogy because my mother made me live through it,” he said as we took seats in the auditorium. “First, she gave me a glass of pricey red wine. She said it was like a strong family bloodline. It tasted bitter and flowery. Then she poured another glass, half-filled with water. She said that was like the blood of a Half-Elf. Personally, I found it tasted better. Finally, she filled a tankard half with red wine and the rest with Dwarven whiskey. She said it was ‘putrid filth’ and that was what I was. She made me drink the whole thing. It burned like fire, tasted like lighter fluid mixed with rose oil. When I threw up, she made me clean it with my tongue for fifteen minutes before allowing me a bucket and rag.” He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles paled. “And she watched me with a smirk the whole time, her heel digging into my neck.”
I was almost physically ill. “But that doesn’t fully explain why she was so vicious.”
Ferris shrugged. “It doesn’t help that my warchief father kidnapped and raped her for months. She has never let me live that down. I got an early education into what rape was. All her friends have heard the harrowing story of her torture and how she tried to live with dignity while forced to carry me, or the even more harrowing endeavor of pushing me out like, and I quote, ‘pushing out a whole rotting hog’.”
Nel and I traded looks of mute shock.
“I’m sorry you have that kind of home life,” I said. “But why open up now?”
Ferris shrugged. “I can’t explain it. You both have been open with your past. Iver, you were honest about the abuse. I guess listening to the horrible things that happened to you just needed to sink in before I could share. Plus, Rose isn’t here. She makes me feel uncomfortable.”
Before we could respond, there was a clapping sound from the stage.
Striding toward the dais was the Mysteriarch herself. She walked like a predator. As she reached the center, a trapdoor opened, and an elegant podium shaped like a lightning-struck oak rose up. She cast a spell, pressing her glowing fingertips to her throat.
“Good morning, students,” her voice sounded like she was standing right in front of me. “I hope you all had a pleasant break. If you are here, you have earned a sufficient score. But do not get comfortable. Starting today, we are introducing a new variable: The Point Factor. You will be in competition with everyone in this room, gaining points from six vectors. I will have each Master explain, but know there is one for each of the five sects and a sixth for extra credit. These points will bring you closer to joining the pertaining sect.” She paused as we began muttering.
“Now,” she started again, silencing the room. “These points are meant to subsidize your sect classes, not replace your exams. This system will be in place until graduation. Master Bail, you have the floor.” The headmaster turned and took a seat that looked very much like a throne.
Master Mystagogue Darrdain Bail stepped to the podium, caught a glowing ball of energy from the Mysteriarch, and pressed it to her own neck. “Good morning, students!” she shouted, making us recoil. She coughed. “Good morning. The first vector is for the Crimson Blade, the Martial Vector, or MV. To acquire points, you must challenge another student to a duel and defeat them with standard, non-lethal combat choices. If you use lethal weapons, you are only allowed to legally challenge another student. Deaths will not provide extra points, and killing a student with intentional lethal force will result in half your points being stripped.”
“To score points, the combat must be recorded by double-tapping your therra-node. Defeating one opponent scores one point. Every opponent after has a rising value. Only the student who makes the final blow gets the point. And again, your opponent must be aware of the attack. Master Kellar, you have the floor.” She tossed the orb to the plain-looking man.
Master Kellar pressed the spell to his throat. “Hello. The next vector is the Escape Vector, or EV. If another student challenges you, your goal is evasion. If your pursuers give up, you stay out of sight for five minutes, or avoid capture for fifteen, you score points based on the number of pursuers. If you go an entire week without being challenged or attacked, you score one point. Master Keckarra, the floor is yours.” He handed her the orb.
The Master Assassin was a Wood Elf woman with brown hair and dark sclera. “Good evening,” she said, her accent from the northern Kethran Empire. “The Silent Heart’s vector is the Hit Vector, or HV. You will score one point for landing a lethal blow on an unaware target. No murder is allowed. The scoring is the same as the first vector. Rather than poison, I will provide non-lethal options that cause stomach pain, vomiting, or drowsiness. Master Craftsman, the floor is yours.” She handed off the orb to Master Mallock.
He made his way across the stage with a peppy shuffle. “Good morning!” he began. “I’m here to discuss the Craft Vector, or CV. Now, doesn’t that sound exciting?” He grinned. “To score points, you will craft devices. An instructor will score you based on complexity and function. You must record the process. But for those with fire in your heels, you can also score points for the creative use of your tools in combat. Master Caster, the floor is yours.” He plucked the orb from his neck and shot it from his mechanical finger.
The Gnome master plucked it from the air and marched to the podium, vanishing behind it before rising up as if on a lift. “For those who do not know me, I am Master Mystagogue Nellis Neckar. I will explain the fifth vector, the Spell Vector. To gain points, you will cast complex spells. One point for mixing two elements, two for mixing three. Minimum of five vells, maximum of fifteen. Life, Death, and Ruin are banned. Fate and Chaos are allowed limited use. The spells can be used for mundane purposes or combat. I advise you to keep enough myst in reserve for at least one spell. That is all.” She lowered herself and marched back.
Mysteriarch K returned to center stage, retrieving her spell. “I will explain the sixth vector, the Hero Vector. Hero Points are awarded for risking your life to save someone. These are not necessary to join a sect but look good on your record, and there may be benefits later.” Murmurs rose among us. The headmaster let them persist a moment. “We hope this was informative. As always, may the five fragments bless you. You are dismissed.”
As we stood to leave, I groused, “Well, I’m doomed.”
“Why?” Ferris asked.
“Are you kidding?!” I whispered harshly. “To get into the Crimson Blade, I need to win fights without gadgets. Gadgets are my only saving grace, and they only score points for the Burning Hand. I’m dead. Screwed ten ways from Quenchday.”
“OK! We get it, Iver,” snapped Nel. “Gods above, you’re not going to fail. Just put in more time with Rose. A few more sessions a week wouldn’t hurt.”
“Yeah, she’s been ‘training’ me,” I said with air quotes. “In reality, she’s been beating me with wooden sticks for hours every day off. I don’t feel like I’m improving. I just feel my growing collection of welts. The only change is I’m getting superb at taking hits.”
“We all need to start somewhere,” Nel consoled.
“If this isn’t the worst, I’d hate to see what is.”
“At least you aren’t learning what it’s like to get stabbed,” Ferris pointed out.
I shivered. “Gee, Ferris, thanks for that mental image.”
