Dodge: Serial 1

Master Eltin announces some surprising news to his students. Losha and Denze deal with doubts and concerns.

Serial 1: The Master

September 28th, 32 S.D. 20:42 Palostrol, Upper Vestel

    The assembly hall, in anyone’s memory, had never held an event this late into the night before. Yet it must have deserved such a privilege if Master Eltin considered it important. The hall itself was nothing especially grand, just a rather small amphitheater with room to seat the school’s approximately 200 students. There was a simple podium and another room off to the left where Master Eltin usually came out to talk, but not much more. Several windows perched high upon each wall, yet so late into the evening, they relied upon a central, large, gas-lit chandelier to illuminate the hall. Where this glow appeared insufficient, a few tall, portable lamps were stationed.
    All of the students had gathered here for about 15 minutes already. Despite the fact that many were approaching their usual bed times, their conversation remained lively and alert.
    “The Master’s finally back! I bet he’s going to announce new rankings for us,” someone said.
    “Ha! When has that ever happened? That pattern’s not going to get any bigger until you pass individual assessments.”
    “Bodrick, come over here.”
    “This is cutting into my study time...”
    “I think I perfected that technique we saw demoed the other day.”
    “Where is that girl?”
    “Hope training’s delayed tomorrow because of this. I want to sleep in.”
    Such was the drone of a dozen discussions all at once. Mesel sat up front, at times talking to other classmates in his division, turning around for intermittent chats now and then. Above all else, however, he focused on the event. Constantly, his eyes bounced back and forth between the stage spread before him and the door at the side. He suddenly picked up his head upon hearing the creak of a door, yet he soon realized it was only the sound of someone using the entrance reserved for the audience. It was, in actuality, a very telling sign, for none other than Denze and Losha had arrived. If Denze, who had gate duty, and Losha, a key student of Master Eltin, had finally joined the assembly themselves, it could only mean that there was nothing else in Palostrol that needed oversight, thus the function could and probably would begin, at the very least sooner rather than later.
    Mesel waved at them as they appeared near the very top rows. Losha waved back while Denze nodded at him. He hoped they could have joined him below, yet space on the bottom row had quickly become scarce early on, so no seats availed themselves. The pair had to settle for one of the middle rows. True to Mesel’s prediction, the arrival of his friends foretold the coming of their master. Within two minutes, the door left of the podium creaked to life. One wondered if Master Eltin left it badly oiled on purpose, so that its stiff, rusted winching might cut through the clamor of a crowd, as it did on this night. The sheer distress of its metal hinges sprang upon every ear, ceasing all voices in a matter of moments. The hall grew silent long before Master Eltin himself even entered.
    He walked out solemnly, heading straight towards the podium. He glanced not once at his pupils, even as he set himself at the stage’s center. Only when he was truly ready did his head rear up to see all of his students assembled. Master Eltin was nearly 70 years old, yet only small streaks of gray did blemish his hair. In appearance and presence, he was a man little more than half his true age. Like his students, he too donned black garments, although he did not wear a sash. Instead, his emblem sat upon his back, hewed into his very shirt. His design far outstripped his students’ in all regards, from size to complexity. For as long as anyone could remember for the past 16 years or so, Eltin’s symbol had remained unchanged. The more advanced of his pupils understood this as a sign that his study into the very same arts he taught was complete. It was the visible mark of his mastery. Aside from a mustache and a tuft of hair that sat above his chin, he had no facial hair, but his wisdom was greater than a mere beard. Not having one made him no less a sage. His black hair was pulled back into a high ponytail near the crown of his head. He had lively green eyes that all the more defied his years.
    “Good evening everyone. I know I am late, and I apologize for my delay. My journey was momentarily preoccupied on something longer than I had anticipated. Needless to say, those of you whom I had instructed to clear the normal route to Oskarya are relieved of such a chore, as I have seen to that myself.”
    Denze huffed in admiration while Losha did her best to restrain a knowing smile.
    “Whoa,” Mesel whispered to himself. The students who were supposed to have done that assignment shuffled slightly in their seats, impressed yet likewise embarrassed. The expectation had been that the 20-odd students would have spent the better part of a day clearing debris. Yet here Master had done it all by himself, in the dark, in a matter of hours... or less. Mesel himself had been there as recently as five ‘o’ clock when it was still impassable. This single fact and feat only all the more emphasized to them why he was their teacher. He then waived a dismissive hand into the air as he carried on.
    “Digressing, I will talk to you about the reason I’ve gathered you all here. Tonight, I would like to introduce you  to our two newest students.” He turned to the door he’d come from and gave a short nod. Evidently it had remained open when he’d made his appearance. From the stage’s left, two people walked out, a tall boy first and then a young girl. Like everyone else before they started life in Palostrol, they came in with clothes native to their homeland rather than the standard student garb. Denze and Losha immediately recognized the long, tan pants and shirt the boy wore with its fantastic and elegant symmetry of heavy, straight, colored lines crossing everywhere.
    With the girl, however, none had ever seen such dress before. She had on a blue silk tunic with golden buttons, wrists, and collar. She wore silk pants of a similar style; the bottoms too were golden rimmed. Upon her feet, she had black rubber-sole shoes. If one examined her close enough, her garments had a subtle floral print stitched in a deeper hue of blue. The most striking aspects of her character, though, came through her face. She had tight, dark eyes as black as her hair. She had a fine, small nose, gentle and smooth cheeks, and surprisingly light skin. She was as much a child in all outward appearance as Mesel, but her hair bun gave her a certain air of being older than that. Standing before the assembly of students at large, the girl seemed to shy away from everyone’s gaze as her eyes fell short of the audience. In contrast, the boy had his hands in the pockets of his long pants, grinning slightly all the while.
    “This young man here is Istan Velhar, a promising serialist from the Central Plains. This young lady here is Aline Hatchifa, a gifted potential from the far Eastern Isles.” A brief bout of whispering arose from the students as intrigue and curiosity spread across the chamber. Plains people were not uncommon among Master Eltin’s pupils; indeed, Denze and Losha themselves were two such individuals. But to no one’s knowledge had there ever been a student to hail from the outer reaches of the Eastern Isles. In fact, few in any of the students had ever seen anyone from there in person. That such a student now stood in their very presence was nothing short of sensational. Although they could not resist murmuring to themselves, out of deference to their master, they spoke relatively little. A moment thereafter, the hall had fallen silent yet again, thus Eltin proceeded.
    “Both have already demonstrated great aptitude for the art we have chosen to pursue: serialization. It is the power to control one’s soul, and through that guidance harness its very energy.” This was basic and elementary to the current students, but the master’s words were not so much aimed at them as it was the newcomers. “With serialization, our souls grant us unimaginable strength and allow us to accomplish great tasks. Yet it is not an easy path to master. It requires diligence, patience, insight, and an intimacy with your own being. These are qualities perfected over a lifetime, but we all must begin at one point or another. On this note, I hope you will all encourage your newest classmates and make them feel at home.” Eltin reached into the podium and pulled out a neatly folded mass of black fabrics.
    “Istan, Aline, please step forward here.” The pair ambled over to the master as he extended the clothes towards them. “These are your uniforms. You needn’t change into them right away. But, starting tomorrow, you will officially be recognized as students under my tutelage and as members of Palostrol.” Istan looked at the dark garments and grinned widely. Aline, conversely, took her uniform but mostly kept her eyes closely aimed at the floor.
    “Come dawn, the two of you will begin your journey to become true serialists. As the progenitor of the art of serialization and as head of this humble institution, I welcome you to your new home and family.” There suddenly erupted from all the seated students a burst of applause. It lasted for some 10 seconds before subsiding. After that, many expected he would dismiss them for the night, especially given how late the evening grew. Yet things followed a most unanticipated course tonight.
    “You two may have a seat somewhere for the time being. I have a second announcement to make.” As the new students walked off the stage, another storm of hushed words whispered about the chamber. Another announcement? About what? No one had any plausible idea what Master Eltin meant to say, and therein lied the mystery. Mesel observed the new students sit down not far from his left a couple of rows back. He kept his attention trained on Aline for a moment before someone poked him in the back.
    “You heard that?” said a boy only slightly younger than Mesel. “That’s not all Master Eltin’s got to say. What do you think it’s about?”
    “I dunno,” Mesel replied, looking back. Again, their gossip but lived shortly, and Master Eltin began once more.
    “As each of you knows, you have excelled in your journey to become competent serialists. As I have said previously, it is a long path, one at times not easily traversed. Yet despite that, I have recognized that some of you have come to the last phases of your training in the art of serialization. Some of you are ready to take great steps in leadership, responsibility, and knowledge.” He gently gripped the podium during this part of his oration, but now as he paused, Master Eltin stepped away from the stand, folding his arms behind him. For a moment, he merely gazed at his students, taking in all of their faces before carrying on.
    “Losha, Siersus Votal, please make your way to the stage,” he said. Denze raised an eyebrow as he looked at Losha beside him, but the slight curling frown at the corner of her mouth told him enough; even she had no idea of the master’s intention. She gave him a brief shrug but quickly stood up and made her way down an aisle. But seconds later, the two students stood side by side facing their master.
    Siersus, like Losha, was one of Eltin’s most advanced students, and one of the older members of Palostrol at 23. He was somewhat tall with long, slightly messy, dark brown hair that fell as far as his neck. Behind his silver framed glasses peered his crisp blue eyes. Despite the remarkable clarity of his irises, he was particularly known for having terrible sight without his lenses. His sash was a light gray, simply affixed to his right arm like Mesel’s and a number of other students’. Siersus always carried a light smile on his face, and everyone generally recognized him for both his congeniality among peers and the genius he showed for serialization. He was easy to talk to, rarely angered, and was considered as much a mentor to the younger students as Losha herself. Losha and Siersus briefly exchanged glances as they had approached Master Eltin.
    “Losha and Siersus represent the height of what I have taught, and not simply on matters of serialization,” he said, looking to the pair once before sweeping his gaze across the audience. “They have advanced to the point where I must mark their exceptional talents in a way I have longed to see since the very founding of Palostrol,” Eltin turned to the two of them, speaking directly at them, yet projecting his voice for all to hear.
    “If you so choose, you may both undertake a test that I myself have specifically devised to challenge you in every teaching I have thus passed onto you. Upon your successful completion, I will deem you worthy the title of Master.”

    The stroke of midnight had long since passed, and Palostrol’s central clock was nigh upon the next hour. Even as late as it was, there was no ounce of sleep present in her body. Losha laid in her bed on her back, her hair completely undone and splayed across her pillow. Her arms spread out wide; her hands hung limp. Although she physically reposed here in her quarters, her mind ran the likes of a thousand thoughts.
    She wondered, at random, if she were the only one tonight who couldn’t sleep. Mesel was still a child, one that probably couldn’t stay awake to this hour despite any effort. Denze had no trouble not worrying about anything; he’d be asleep right now. What about Siersus? He was in the same situation that she was. In all honesty, she couldn’t imagine him as anything but collected. But didn’t other students hold that very same impression of her? She was Losha, the Stern Sister after all, a cool, calm young woman. Yet here she was, staring into a ceiling of uncertainty. She sighed aloud and rolled onto her right side close to the window.
    Perhaps... perhaps those new students couldn’t sleep either. They were in a home that had not yet become their home, surrounded by a family that was scarcely familiar. Hours later, they’d be immersed in training that would forever alter their lives. Surely on their part they must have felt apprehension.
    Losha tried to remember tried to remember what she had felt all of those years back, her first night in Palostrol as a 7 year-old girl. The feelings themselves escaped her, unkept memories lost to time. She vividly recalled having to learn the language Eltin and the others spoke though. Whatever she’d felt like back then, it was most likely quite removed from what her heart experienced now.
    Master Eltin had been running this facility for nearly 16 years, yet he had always been their teacher, the sole source of their instruction and guidance. No one but himself bore the title of Master, not simply in Palostrol, but across the Continent and beyond. Yet, he was asking her to share the very same honor and regard that she and so many of Eltin’s other students had bestowed onto him all these years. He was asking her to stand on the same level as her teacher, a man who by himself had discovered the very art of serialization.
    Losha could only question if she were indeed worthy of any comparison to Eltin. Apparently he thought so, if she could surpass his trial. What’s more, what had she expected to happen? The announcement last night was certainly unforeseen, but did she believe she could dedicate her life to learning an art without ever mastering it herself? It was a matter that would have come about eventually at any rate. Someone would have to assume the position Eltin held as a chief mentor for future students, and none could do that without first even roughly matching him. This was just something that had to come with time. Even as she spread out such assurances before herself, Losha still saw the shadows of doubt cast in her head. The master thought she were ready and capable, at least enough to test her, but was she in fact truly prepared?
    The answers eluded her as the morning’s earliest hours waned away. Towards the first quarter of three ‘o’ clock, she finally relented and threw aside all thought, at last summoning herself to sleep. Given how late the orientation with the new students had lasted, class start times were pushed back until ten later that morning. Even after a rather fruitless search for answers within herself, Losha at least managed to get some amount of decent rest.

    Losha wasn’t the only one troubled by the night. Contrary to what she had assumed, Denze actually was up at that moment in his own room. Yet, the reasons for his waking were far different than hers. His insomnia was two-fold in cause. The first preoccupation of his mind concerned what he’d heard recently, the subject he’d tried to tell Losha. He still wasn’t sure if he were in the right about anything. It was bad enough to have overhead one of Master Eltin’s private conversations, even if it had been by chance. Even so, he wasn’t sure if not telling anyone else had been the correct action to take.
    He dared not repeat what he’d accidentally eavesdropped upon, at least not in his mind. The respectful course of action would have been to forget everything he’d learned and consider these tiresome worries a lesson to be careful of what he heard from now on. If anything were to come of that matter, Master Eltin was himself aware of the issue, and Denze believed there was nothing that man couldn’t resolve. Additionally, Losha would also become a master herself, and he knew she wouldn’t ever let these concerns of his come to fruition. Knowing Losha, Denze had a feeling she didn’t particularly view herself as master material, but to him it was perfectly clear what would happen the day she faced that trial.
    And therein was his second preoccupation: his own development as a serialist. Perhaps seeing those two fresh, aspiring new students in combination with hearing the announcement of Losha and Siersus’ upcoming tests set something off in him. He just last night had joked to Mesel about his own progress compared to that of his two friends, but in reality it was nothing to make light of. By last year’s standards, he personally felt he hadn’t learned nearly as much this time around.
    More pressing to him was the fact that he wasn’t mentoring any other students, despite his age and relative experience. The older, more proficient students were charged with helping Master Eltin instruct the younger ones, as a matter of running a school with some 200 children and adolescents. These dozen or so mentors represented Master Eltin’s special recognition of individuals skilled enough in the precepts of serialization to ably pass on that knowledge. Becoming a mentor signified one’s reaching a sort of cornerstone in one’s journey to understand serialization as an art.
    Among the students, it was the unwritten flow of progression, from neophyte to trainee to mentor, and now the next level, master. Both Losha and Siersus were mentors and more, and here they were about to reach further. This was the manner in which students should have advanced in Palostrol. Perhaps not all were fit to be masters themselves, but at least everyone hoped to learn enough well enough to be teachers to some degree. Yet so far, the next step had eluded him, and he had not received the distinction of mentor. Had he truly stagnated in his studies? Had he grown less and less recently? Or was he expecting too much too soon as Losha mentioned? These questions persisted into the morning, giving him no respite until dawn was only a few hours on its approach.

Author's Note

In a distant world, on an obscure mountaintop, a secluded school educates children in the secret arts of serialization, the power of channeling the soul's energy. Under the instruction of their wise teacher, Master Eltin, each student aspires to one day themselves perfect their abilities. Yet what will become of his students and the world should the might of serialization prove too strong for man to handle? The tale of a great conflict a millennium in the making begins here with three unsuspecting students, Mesel, Denze, and Losha. Their paths go on to determine the fate of the Continent and whether serialization is ultimately used to forge an end to all wars or to make all wars endless.

The next installment comes January 15th, 2014. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

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Authors Notes

* Master Eltin apparently has found a way to drastically reduce the aging process. He has not revealed to anyone at this time if this has anything to do with serialization, although his students speculate on this frequently when he is not present.

* The Eastern Isles are actually not part of the Continent. All but a handful of people call the Eastern Isles their home, and they are usually very isolated from the mainland. Because either side is often removed from one another, this accounts for the novelty of meeting someone from the Eastern Isles

* Perhaps Aline is shy because mainlanders were so rare back home, but now she's suddenly thrown into their midsts?

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Any feedback is welcome. Just writing because I like it. Always wanted to make a weekly series, so I'm doing it.

Reviews

[David Jae]

This continues with the same strength of your previous chapter, being well-written and with compelling characters. Some of your narrative would have benefitted from some redrafting, such as the scene in the hall. You make certain specific references to time passing, such as 'Within two minutes...' which add little to the passage. Why is it important that we know that two minutes have passed. If it's not relevant, don't include it. Also, there are some passages that are a bit too long winded.
E.g.
'It was, in actuality, a very telling sign, for none other than Denze and Losha had arrived.'

This might be better:

'It was a very telling sign, for only Denze and Losha were absent.'

I can see how the language you use sets up the character, but it doesn't flow naturally.

Even so, these are minor points and the story stands on it's own merits. You should be proud.

Ganbare

[D.S. Baxter]

Hey David Jae, thanks for the review! I really appreciate someone taking the time to look at my writing.

About the time example, if I recall correctly, I was aiming to show that the assembly did in fact begin shortly after Denze and Losha arrived. It's been a while since I looked at what I wrote, so I can't precisely give you an insight into what I was thinking, but that's what I guess I was trying to convey. January seems like forever ago ;)

About the roughness in places, please consider everything here under the "Dodge" series to be quick and dirty 2nd drafts at best. I edit them once for spelling and grammar, then do another brief once-over. I had this idea to see what it would be like if I started writing weekly without missing a beat, so none of these are extensively reviewed (especially the beginning ones). I suppose it's "dump and run" for the moment.

I don't intend to keep it that way, rest assured. I'm waiting until the end of the year so I can print up 2014's stuff then sort through everything 2 or 3 more times (with more pairs of eyes than mine, of course) and check everything from language to plot inconsistencies and hopefully have a final version ready by the end of 2015. Then I'll start all over again with 2015's stuff, and get a final version done by 2016, etc, etc.

But that's beside the point. Thank you for pointing out places that need improvement, and by all means don't hold back! I look forward to your upcoming thoughts (if you want to continue reading my stuff that is), and hopefully I can find the time to look at some of yours :)

[David Jae]

You have a lot of potential and I'm enjoying your writing. Despite the minor corrections I've suggested, it is a strong piece of work with powerful characters and a joy to read.
Ganbare