Chapter 1

Arran, wiping his brow, tried to focus on the baker's words. The hot, stuffy air from the ovens was making it hard for Arran to listen. He kept looking out the window, wanting the day to be over. he turned back to the baker. "Then you knead the dough like this.", said the baker as she showed them how. She went on and on about the proper technique, how to tell if the bricks are hot enough, how long to cook the bread, and how to let it cool properly. "Any questions?", she asked. no one moved, as it was expected of them not to ask questions during the Week of Choosing.

"I have ingredients on the counters. Now it's your turn to try. We'll see how well you listened." Arran went to the counter farthest from the baker, so he couldn't be seen very well. He looked at the ingredients, but couldn't remember which was which. He confused the salt with the sugar, the butter with the cream, and the flour with the baking soda. He ended up with a pale dough that wouldn't stay together. He accidentally let the oven get too hot, and burned it. The resulting product was not even worth considering. Well, he wouldn't become a baker. That was a relief.

He lined up with the rest of the students. one by one, they presented their attempt at bread making to the baker. She would smell it, taste it, and feel the texture. When she came to Arran, he could see her stout figure slightly sag with exhaustion. She looked at the charred thing in his hands, took one whiff, and from her face, Arran guessed she was trying not to vomit. She coughed and continued on. When she got to the end, she stood up straighter. She named off six people of the group of thirty-some youth. Arran knew they would become bakers, and go into the apprenticeship starting the next day.

The baker sat down heavily in the chair behind her desk. "You are dismissed. Wait outside in formation until you are taken to your next station. Those of you whose names were called, you are excused for the rest of the day. be here before dawn tomorrow."

Arran stepped outside, glad to be out of the stuffy bakery. The cool autumn air nipped his face as he waited in his place in the formation, fourth from the left end. He wondered what station would be next. Would it be blacksmithing? Or maybe weaving? Who knows. He shrugged internally. He smiled at the thought that it might be the Hunter station. He snapped back to reality as he heard the crunch of footsteps on the dirt street.

The minor noble over the village, whose name was Tenvon, walked in front of the fourteen-year-olds. Arran shifted uncomfortably as the man passed him. Tenvon's head turned to Arran. He had a violent light in his eyes that slightly scared Arran. "Stand straight!" Tenvon barked. "Arms to the side! Feet together! Eyes front! You are not allowed any movement but to blink your eyes. Anyone slouching on this posture will be given ten lashes. Am I clear?"

"Sir, yes sir!", came the programmed response, as everyone squared up to position. Tenvon eyed Arran  again, then continued to the last people in line. At the end, he turned around and began to speak once more. "The next station is the military barracks. Single file! Right face! Forward march!" Arran complied with the order, keeping his moves as crisp as he could make them. He marched in time with the youth around him.

He didn't know any of them. He was a reclusive stable boy who was always looked down on. He considered the animals his only friends. He often spent his time grooming them and talking to them. His thoughts wandered to the stations. So far, from the potter's, to the weaver's, to the farmer's to the baker's, he had failed miserably. From the group of around a hundred kids, only thirty or so remained. Most went to become farmers, as they accepted just about anybody. He thought of the Hunters. If there was any place that could give him friends, it would be with the Hunters. That would help him fit in, if anything could.

He almost ran into the person in front of him, and his thoughts scrambled. He stood at attention as the Barrackmaster stepped out of the military barracks. The youth saluted as he stopped in front of them. "Being in the military is a very demanding career." He droned on about the various duties of the guardsmen, the footmen, the archers, the assassins, and other positions. He talked for around an hour, judging by the sundial that was partly hidden from Arran's limited point of view.

The barrackmaster switched topics and began talking about the history of the military in the Empire, then decided to talk about the proper etiquette. He gave them commands, and the youth complied to the best of their abilities. "Parade rest! Attention! Salute! Left face! Right face! About face! Halt!", and other commands he gave them to do. Then, the drilldown began. Order after order came out of the barrackmaster's mouth. Arran made a mistake when the guy shouted "Left left right about face!" Instead of doing the last command, as was the right way, he calculated them all and did a right face instead. He got pulled out of the drilldown. He looked down, face burning, as the rest of the youth completed the drilldown. He was the only one who failed.

The barrackmaster then took the cleanest, sharpest, and fittest youth for apprenticeship. He then dismissed them back into formation. Before he left, he walked down the line, staring each person in the face. When he got to Arran, the intimidating look made Arran flinch slightly. Immediately, Arran felt the lash of the whip on his back. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. After ten lashes his back felt like it was on fire, and the pain clouded his mind. He almost missed the call that they were dismissed for the rest of the day. He looked up at the sun, and reckoned he still had at least an hour before the sky turned dark.

Hurrying down to the stables, he tripped twice on the dusty road. When he got to the stables, he was sweating, and the pain in his back almost became unbearable. He carried on with his duties, careful not to strain his back too much. He cleaned out the stalls, forked in new hay, toted water, milked the cows, and gave slop to the pigs. After he was done, he sagged against the wall, his whole body shaking from exertion. He gathered his will and straightened up. He grabbed the brush and comb, and went to work grooming the horses. He talked to them in a soothing voice, for his own benefit as well as theirs. After he was done, he went to the stablemaster's house.

The stablemaster saw how bad Arran's back was, with the lashes. "No supper tonight, lad.", the stablemaster said in a clipped voice. Stop making brash mistakes." With that, he shut the door. Arran sighed. So much for food. He trudged back to the stables, where he normally slept. That was the third time so far during the Week of Choosing that he had gone to bed without supper because of his lashings.That was the one reason Arran hated the Week of Choosing. During the week of Choosing, all the fourteen-year-olds were gathered together.

They went around to different "stations" to be chosen for an apprenticeship. Those that didn't fit into one in the village were sent to the distant mines. Arran didn't want to go there. The thought of digging in a dark deep hole, with the threat of dragons and raptors, made him shiver. He had tried his hardest so far at every station, only to fall impossibly short. Arran always wished to be a Hunter, but he knew that he would fall short again. Most likely, he would end up in the mines.

He rearranged the hay in the loft into a bed. He lay down, bits of straw dust landing on him and covering his clothes. Sleep came fairly quickly, despite all the pain in his back. He dreamt of a strange bird, seemingly made of fire. Warm flames washed over his body, making the pain subside. Unbeknownst to Arran, a black tattoo glowed for a moment on his skin, and his back was mostly healed. The cost of healing made him sleep deeper. 

Reviews

[David Jae]

You create a rich world and I like the ending. A nice mystic touch and it leaves you wanting to read more.

Your characterisation is good and draws you in, making you care about them and lending a good strength of realism.

What lets this down for me is the amount of exposition. You state a lot of information that could be covered better through dialogue.

EG
"She went on and on about the proper technique, how to tell if the bricks were hot enough, how long to cook the bread and how long to let it cool for."

This does not add a lot to the story, although I see what you were trying to do. I would suggest either making it shorter or have some dialogue that covers it.

1)
"The baker began talking about the proper baking of bread and how hot the oven should be. However, he only listened with half an ear, looking along the line of hopefuls..."
This covers the same ground, but allows you to bring in more characterisation.

2)
"The oven needs to be hot before any bread is placed in it. If this isn't done, it will be hard outside and not cooked in the middle. After it is cooked, it will need to rest before you attempt to cut it. Pay attention.' She snapped, slamming her hand down on the bench in front of a lanky youth who had been staring out of the window. "You're hear for a job. You can either pay attention or you can leave..."

This allows you to bring in more character and feels less stilted.

Don't mistake me. You're concept is strong and I like your characters. It just needs some refinement in the execution. Personally, I've never been good at taking criticism, so I understand if this seems harsh.

If you have any further questions, or I can help in any way, don't hesitate to ask.

You should be proud of this.

[S. von Glaubitz]

I'm really enjoying your story so far! Arran is already on his way to being a well-developed character. He's very relatable and I already care about him. Poor kid! And clearly this is a whole new fantasy world, but that bit of magic at the end as a reminder of the magic seen in the prologue is a really nice touch.

Unless there was a mystery ingredient in the bread, the ingredients themselves, even when mixed improperly, probably wouldn’t trigger a gag reflex. This is funny, but might be even funnier if he accidentally baked a big fly into the bread.

Why would he be disciplined for failing a military drill if he’s not getting selected for the military? It’s not like he needs to remember the lesson for the future. Or do all the youths get lashed for failing each station, as it's later implied this isn't his first lashing? Why didn't he get lashed for failing at the bakery?

Where is the military drill taking place? Can you describe it a little more, or what the village is like? What the stables are like? For me, part of the pleasure of reading fantasy is discovering new worlds. I'd like to see more of yours! You don't have to add so much description it bogs down the story. Sometimes it only takes a few words here and a few words there. "He looked out the window, at a group of small boys playing at marbles in the village square, and wanted this day to be over." "The minor noble over the village, Tenvon, walked in front of the fourteen-year-olds, sunlight reflecting off the medals decorating his doublet." You get the idea. Details can really help create a sense of time and place.

The second to last paragraph could be taken out. Some of the information is already covered in the rest of the chapter, like the purpose of the stations and the fact that he’s been failing at them. The new information about the mines could be incorporated into the scenes at the bakery and the during the drill, perhaps with him reflecting on what happens if he continues to fail, and using this as his reason to keep trying. Wanting to stay out of the mines adds an urgency over what’s at stake with these tests.

I see you've posted six chapters! I think I may just try to read them all. Keep up the awesome work!