Mitaen: Chpt. 1

A year after being kidknapped and forced into serving in the Army of an alien nation, Paul must survive his internship in the Armory, balance his political standing, and find his way home.

Forward

A= ah

E= aye

I= eeey

O= oh

U= ooh

LL= Yah

I look into the mirror, noticing all the changes that have been effected on me over the last year. Thinner, I think, and somehow... Darker. I'm tanner, that's for sure. Much more time outside. Something else, though, something deeper than the skin. Maybe it's my eyes. They're shifting slowly, everyday, to something newer. Something alien. A year ago, when I was first brought to this place, they were a bright blue hazel. Everyday, though, they move closer and closer to a deep blue green. This is typical, I'm told. With every shade they change, it seems like the color drains out of the world a bit more. I'm told this, too, is normal. All a part of the natural processes that have been triggered in me. All of them just another way of making me into the Ideal Soldier.

Not that I'll see much of the battle field. I'm the ceremonial sword, pretty, worth amounts untold, but never meant to be used. I know I should be happy, I know I should be grateful, since a life on the sidelines is a life of safety, of privilege. But a life on the sidelines is a life without the possibility of release, without the chance of finally seeing the fruits of my labors coming to fruition. A life without fight is a life without a chance of escape.

A knock at my door stirs me from my ruminations. I sigh and cross this, my, room. I open the door to see a familiar face, one of the only faces I've grown to look forward to here in this place. One of the only faces I can trust.

“Good morning, sir. How are you today?” Sarin asks, curtsying, bright and perky as always. Her blue eyes sparkle in just the right way, almost distracting from the way they never blink, and hold no more in their depths than the reflection of my unshaven face in the soft light of early morning. She is wearing a thin blue dress, probably made of cotton, cut in such a way that shows off all of her... Assets. Typical slave garb. She is anything but, though.

I grunt in reply to her question and open my door all the way. I walk back over to my shaving mirror, trusting her to enter and make herself at home. I tug off my shirt and begin making a lather to shave with. I take the brush and whisk it through the shaving soap, and then spread it over my cheeks. When I've applied a thin, even, layer, I hear Sarin's voice from behind me.

“So, what's on the agenda today? After all, this is your anniversary, no?” I see her behind me, sitting on my bed and swinging her feet. She always seems so innocent. I know better, but I still can't help but smile at her energy. No matter what, her cheer is tireless. More than once, she's pulled me out of a funk or bought of ennui. She has been the one constant in my life over the past year. My one rock.

I grunt again, knowing she'll read my silence as easily as other might read my words.

“So, pretty standard, huh? Go to class, go to drill, and then present to the Board? You could always just skip classes. That's kind of a tradition on people's anniversaries, you know. That way, they aren't preoccupied when the Council sends for them.”

A third grunt and a shake of the head ends that line of questioning. I pick up the straight razor, sharpening it on the leather strop that lies next to the sink. It's silly, but sometimes it feels like my morning routine, shaving, showering, talking to Sarin, is the only thing keeping me sane. I need it, and I'll be damned if I give that up along with everything else that might be taken away from me today.

“So, are you nervous?” Sarin asks, never one to be silent for too long. She's trying to draw me out, out of my little shell, trying to get me to smile, to talk, to show some life. I'll never be able to thank her enough for that. So, I decide to answer her, with words this time.

“Of course I'm nervous. Today decides the rest of my life. If I fail, I lose this room, this life, even you.” I stop, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. Somehow, saying the words makes this whole thing seem so much more real. “Hell, they might even try to take away my suba, and no matter how many times I've practiced resisting, I can't help but worry it won't be enough.” I move the razor a bit too hastily and nick the corner of my jaw bone. I hiss at the sudden flair of pain. Sarin clucks her tongue at me and stands up. She walks over to me and places a kiss on my jaw, right over the cut. I feel her tongue make contact, just once, and the pain is gone. As is the blood, and any sign of there ever having been an imperfection there at all. This is the most jarring thing for me, the most terrifying change, the perfection. My skin is perfect, nary a blemish, and no matter how out out of shape I get, my stomach never moves past the “flab” stage, and even that tends to disappear with a visit to the Academy tailor. I never thought I'd see the day I would miss my belly fat.

Sarin wraps her arms around my shoulders, skillfully avoiding my face, which is still half covered in the fluffy white colloid. “Don't worry so much. You wouldn't have been marked if you hadn't had the right stuff in you.” Her right hand spreads over my heart, pressing into the skin of my chest. Her left reaches up to grip the rough wooden cross I wear around my neck. “This, right here, is what will guide you. Just breath deep, and believe. You're always talking of this 'One True God' of yours, and how he can do anything, and how he loves you unconditionally, and yet you always seem to prepare for the worst. Just trust. Any god that loves you that much will take good care of you.”

I sigh and lower my chin to rest on her hands. “Why the hell are you so smart?” I ask her.

She slides her hands back and away, skipping back over to the bed. “Because you're so dim. Like I said, you're worried about nothing. You're a natural, a revolutionary. Even one of your rejects could probably get you admitted to an internship, if not more. I mean, that gun that launched, oh what was it... Gumballs! That was genius.” She grinned at me, nothing but enthusiasm.

I've finished shaving by this point, and wipe my face with a towel. Ah, the gumball gun. Now that was a fun project. Writing the script wasn't fun, but testing it out sure was. As I walk over to the shower closet, I continue to talk with her. “Yeah, that may be true, but I'm supposed to be developing military grade weapons, not a fun new toy for Sally and Walter. I doubt that the gumball gun would qualify.”

I step in the little alcove set into the south wall and pull the divider in front of the gap. It's not like Sarin can see me, or would care if she could, but I still like to pretend that there's some privacy in my life.

I hear Sarin bumping around in my room. “Well, don't be so quick to sell yourself short. I mean, with just a few modifications, maybe you could make the gumballs into, like, sticky bombs or something, to jam enemy vehicles wheels or something. Use your imagination.”

I shook my head as I mixed the soap power in with the bowl of warm water that had appeared, magically, on the table that was set waste high inside the shower notch. When I had gotten the right consistency, I began to coat my body with it. For some odd reason, Sarin had deemed it appropriate to get me mentholated soap. Soon, as the soap soaked into my skin, I feel as though someone has dumped a bucket of ice water on me. As I wait the customary amount of time, to let the soap work it's magic, I think of what Sarin has just said. It actually made a lot of sense, to change something silly like that into something useful, for those above me if not for myself. It also fits in with another thing I have been thinking about, one that we would have to be a bit more careful talking about.

I'm sufficiently tingly by now, and reach over to pull the chord to my left, releasing the first torrent of water down onto my body. I scrub vigorously, trying to wash as much of the soap off as I can in one go. When I can remove no more, I reach to my right and pull on the chord to my right, slowly this time, and feel the stream of water fall down onto me. I wash the rest of the minty soap off, marveling at how clean I feel, totally stripped of contamination. I remove the divider and step out in the shower room proper. The cool air hits me, and I quickly grab a towel, drying myself off quickly. I wrap the towel around my waist and walk back into my room.

Sarin is sitting on my bed, her back to me, thankfully. “So, what did you think of the soap? I got it special for today.”

I roll my eyes and eye the clothes she's laid out for me today. Black undershirt, with a dark blue button down shirt to go over that. My purple vest, the one that marks me as a Mage, and the white sash on the left arm that marks me as a student, lies next to them. Also, folded neatly to their left, is a pair of blue jeans, a pair of socks, and the long strip of cloth that passes for underwear here. Pretty standard wear, even if a bit understated for my first anniversary on Mitean. Sarin must get that I really didn't feel much like celebrating. At least someone does.

I start to dress. “Yes. I did. It made my balls tingle though. That was odd.”

Sarin let out a choked, surprised laugh, and I grinned. It's not often I can catch her off guard like that, so I thoroughly enjoy it when I do.

“Well, it did. It was, like, full on tingles up in here. Makes me wonder what they really put in it.”

She laughs again, and spins around, coming to a stop sitting cross legged on the bed, facing me. I notice her eyes grow bright for a moment, and she blinks, once, and the room flashes. I take a surprised step backwards, caught off guard by the intensity of the spell. All around the room, slinging to the walls, the ceiling, and enveloping the furniture, is a downy white light, like the sun through wax paper. A soundproofing spell.

“So, what is it that you need to talk to me about?” She smiles. “Don't act surprised. I don't need

to be able to see you to see that you're not saying something. And hurry up. You need to be in class in an hour.”

I know I should be scared, or at least uncomfortable, that she knows me that well, but I'm not, probably because that's kind of her job.

“So, no one's listening?” I ask, just to be careful. She pouts her lip out and huffs indignantly. How dare I question her competence. “Well, sorry. Just making sure. I'm thinking about switching my tribute.” I cringe a little, waiting for the coming rebuke.

See, when a student, like me, applies to become an Apprentice, as I have, they need to go through a series of trials and tests to prove themselves worthy. For Armorers, like me, one of those tests is to invent a brand new item, mech or maj, that no one has ever made before, and present it as an offering to the Armorer Council. If they like it, you're in. If not, you're cast out of the Guild Hall, once and for all, and that's it. Traditionally, the student gives their best creation, as a sign of commitment to the Hall. Anything else borders of heresy.

Sarin regards me with her unwavering, unblinking gaze for a long moment, and then she smiles. “Nice! I knew you had a back bone.” I relax, glad she's going along with my idea. “I have to ask, though. Why? Why switch it now?”

“Because,” I reply, “Someday, I want to be more than an Armorer, make my way through the system till I'm on a Venturing team, and starting off my professional career by giving them everything I've worked for, my best kept secret, is a dangerous precedent. Besides, a gluegunner would be a pretty kick-a*s addition to militant arms.” I grin at her, hoping she understands that I'm giving her the props for the idea.

She smiles back and then looks down at her watch. She lets out a little squeak. “We are so late. Lets get going.”

She snaps her fingers and the white lights around the room rush to her, sliding back under her skin quickly and easily. Watching it makes me queasy, but also makes me tingly with excitement. Someday, I'll be able to do that. If I live that long. If I make it through today.

Sarin grabs my book bag in one hand and my arm in the other and drags me out the door. And so the day begins.

As we navigate the twists and turns that lead around and, ultimately, out of the dormitories, I can't help but notice the changes in demeanor that Sarin and I go through. Sarin, usually erect and energetic, bright and spazzy, slowly takes her usual place at my left hip, head down, steps shuffling. I, on the other hand, grow taller, shoulders pulling back, chest out. I fix my face into an imperious sneer, never truly looking anyone in the eye, always looking down on them. I pass people in the halls, people who call out greetings and such, and I simply nod in response, if I put out that much effort at all. I'm always shocked, and a little horrified, at how easily I slip into that persona. That mask means survival, though, so I wear it everyday. Weakness, here, means death. I have to be strong, even when I don't want to be.

Today is Jueves, or Thursday, so I have... Language 1. If this had been a normal High School, I could've tested out. I've been fluent in the local language, Espenia, for at least the last six months, and passable for three months before that.. It's really just a corruption of Spanish. Same form, with only a couple of changes to the conjugations and such. Plus, Sarin had helped me acclimate quickly. But, this isn't a normal High School. Here, I have to go through the class “just cuz”. So, I make the most of it. Mostly, I spend my time finding ways to make the other students uncomfortable. Lot's of awkward eye contact.

Today, more than usual, I reflect on the place I've been calling home for 12 months now. Military Institute, as it's called, is a huge, sprawling castle, made of red sandstone, or something close to it. The halls are huge, airy. Everything is built to impress, from the scale of... Well, everything, to the gold plating that adorns the trophy cases, which are filled with wonders from countless countries across countless worlds. Hundreds of people stream by on either side, their personal slaves following in a subdued manner. More people walk in and out of holes in the walls, animals fly through the air above my head and scamper by underfoot, soldiers practice in the yard, and guns boom day and night. It is everything that a war-mongering nation would want, a statement to the rest of the world saying “Here we are, deal with it.”

The fact is, though, that no matter how pretty this place is, it is a cage. A beautiful, fantastical cage, and one that I've chosen to live in, but a cage none the less. I haven't set foot outside the grounds since I arrived.

“I need to drop by my Armory, to make some modifications to my tribute. Think I could skip a day of Language?” I ask Sarin, keeping my head facing forward, eyes uninterested. It's a pain, pretending that I don't care, that she can't think, but a necessary action. She's assured me many a time, “Don't worry about it, this is my job. Someday, you'll be thankful.” She had proven that time after time.

I felt her assent, like a warmth on my back, mixed with a bit of amusement. She knows as well as I do how easily the language comes to me now. “Is there any time to see Breda before the Ceremony?” I ask. Dissent, a cool breeze. I attempt to send back disappointment, getting mixed results. I know Sarin has received the message when I feel the soothing presence of Assurance on my cheek. It'll be OK.

I nod and turn into the hallway that leads to the Armory department. I spot a friend of mine, Enrique, up ahead. His slave, Debina, follows behind him. She is dressed not in a slaves blue dress, but something a little longer, showing less of her body. Keeping her body for Enrique's eyes only. His bag is over her shoulder, making her sag under the weight. I know I should be more disgusted with the slavery practices here, but I can't bring myself to care for the most part. As the color around me drains, so does my involvement with pretty much everyone. It's nice at times. As the old adage goes, “The less you care, the happier you are.”

“Hey, Que pasa?!” Enrique (or Kike) calls, running up to me. Debina follows at a more subdued pace, stopping a respectable distance back. She looks up only briefly, acknowledging Sarin, and then looks down. Enrique does the same. These two are part of a very select few that know Sarin's true status. They know better than to say anything, but even if they didn't, they're not the type who would. Enrique is... A little too scattered to worry about the confusing political games of power and reputation that seem so popular here. Probably why we get along.

“Eh, mucho nada.” I answer, in Espenia. “I'm heading to my locker to pick something up. Wanna come?” Enrique smiles, and nods enthusiastically.

As we continue toward the Armory Dept, Enrique produces a steady stream of chatter, talking about everything, and nothing. He wears the black, mammoth-leather vest of his profession, with the matching gloves thrust through the wide brown belt at his waist. His pants and shirt are the same brown, his boots a dull black. With his big eyes and slightly big teeth, it's hard to take him seriously at tomes. Especially with his sandy brown hair sticking up at all angles, slightly charred here and there, a testament to his vocation. He's a Keeper, the sect of our population that works with the war monsters the Army breeds. Enrique works with the dragons, specifically. They tend to like him, which is rare, since the abhor most humans. He still ends up slightly toasted every now and then.

We round the corner into the Armory proper, and Enrique gives Debina the hand signal to hang back and wait here, since everything past this point is Guildsman's property, and thus protected from public eyes. I do the same, for show. Sarin knows the rules of social etiquette far better than I ever will.

We walk down the hallway, a duet instead of a quartet. This hallway is red like everything else, big like everything else, lined on both sides with door after door, all a uniform matte black. They sport no handle, or any visible means of opening. Only a golden number emblazoned at the very top, and a small symbol next to that. As I scan the numbers on the doors, something Enrique says catches my attention.

“So, you nervous for your trial?” I hadn't thought he'd remember. “I don't know what you guys have to do to pass, but ours is no picnic.” Each sect has their own trials, and they're supposed to be secret. I have a feeling they're anything but. I continue scanning the doors. My number is coming up.

“So,” I begin, “what do you Keepers have to do to get an Apprenticeship? Climb a mountain to snatch an egg from some golden clawed eagle? Calm some elephant-monkey down after someone takes it's candy?” I'm only half sarcastic. Some of the traditions on this world are down right bizarre. Like, whenever you meet someone important, you have to kneel, turn in a half circle, and then stand again. Or, if you're ever served shell fish, you have to lift the dish and sniff it, as loudly and longly as you can.

Kike looks at me with what can only be described as suspicion, but I know it's in jest. “You asking me to divulge trade secrets? I am shocked. I am appalled. I am disgusted. I am wondering what took you so long to ask.” He gives me his typical idiot grin, exposing his sarcasm, and leans against the wall next to my door. I just shrug in response.

1408

This is my number, the numeral that almost literally means me. I always shudder at the thought, even as my heart sings with the beauty of it. I walk up to the door and place my left hand on the place where one might usually find the handle, and place my right hand directly across from that. Then, taking a deep breath, I speak three words.

They flow out of my mouth and down my arms, leaving warm, golden trails wherever they touch. Finally, they touch the door, and I feel a pressure build, just under my palms. Then, it is gone. The door pushes open as easily as any other, and I step inside.

I take a deep breath, tasting the metallic tang of locking, protection and secrecy. This room is mine. Completely and totally mine. I savor the feeling of it for a moment. Then, I step aside to admit Kike inside.

The room, my personal Armory, is simple enough. The dimensions measure about 25 feet by 20 feet. The ceiling is quite low, considering the enormity of every other room in this place. I can reach up and touch it if I feel so inclined. There is a small table in the middle, with papers scattered every whichaway on it. Three walls are lined with nothing but cubicles, in every shape and size. Inside these cubicles are tools, papers, and all my projects to date. The wall to my right is adorned in cabinets. Everything is a sterile gray metal.

Kike makes a small sound in his throat, something between a snort and a cough. I catch a whiff of surprise, and excitement, and then Kike launches himself through the door. He starts chattering at a mile a minute, touching everything he can, oohing and aahing at my tools.

“Wow! I'veneverbeeninsideanArmorybefore. It'ssocoollooking. Wow!! Youmadeallthese? Howlongdidittake? Where'dyougettheidea's? What'sthis?” Espenia, like it's mother-tongue, is a swiftly flowing language, but when Kike gets like this it's closer to an avalanche. I laugh a little at his uninhibited wonder, since open emotion is somewhat rare here. I try to answer his questions as best as I can, but I can't get a word in edgewise, so I just let him calm down on his own. I move over to the cabinet in question and unlock it. The locks here, like so many other things, are very similar to the technology back home, and yet so alien. I press my thumb to the wax circle on the door, and wait a moment for the wax to warm. When my thumbprint is firmly in place in the wax, I twist my hand counter-clockwise, and the door pops open. Behind me, I hear Kike start to breath again. I turn around to answer a question of his and see him reaching into a cubicle on the wall opposite me. My heart kicks into overdrive.

“Alto!” Stop!

He stops. He gives me a confused look, and I feel the shock in his gaze. “What's wrong?” He asks me, oblivious. I take a deep breath and walk over to him. His hand is still hovering in front of the opening, so I gently push it down, feeling the rush of skin on skin contact. I focus on the task at hand.

“You should know better than to touch just anything in a Mages work room.” I scold him. He gives me a blank look, and I return it with an exasperated huff. “Do you know what's in here?”

“No.”

“And do you know whether or not it's warded, or has a guardian? Or, better yet, what the consequences might be for triggering those spells?”

Blank look.

“Exactly. I've got a ward on this box, one that's got a rather... Toothy bite.”

Blank look.

Repeat sigh.

“Here, I'll show you. Stand over there.” I point to the open cabinet on the other side of the room. While he moves to the other side of the room, I walk to a cubicle on the wall opposite the door. I take out a matte black gun and a brown linen sack. In my eyes, the gun is sleek and deadly. In his, it is odd, and foreign. One of the biggest surprises to me when I came here was that, as far as I know, this world lacks an form of physical firepower. No guns, cannons, or gunpowder. I haven't even seen fireworks. That made me sad.

“What's that?” Kike questions. I smile, and point it at him. I pull the trigger, and there is a small pop. Kike dives for the floor. Apparently he's a little smarter than I give him credit for.

Before you gasp and start hating me, no, I did not shoot a bullet at him. Or, at least, not a metal one. What comes out of the end of the barrel is bullet-shaped, but made out of chewing gum, like a gumball. It smacks into the metal of the cubicles and instantly becomes sticky, adhering to the metal in a shapeless blob that smells faintly of citrus. Kike stands up, a little angry. I smile.

“This, my friend, is a gun.” I pronounce the word slowly, knowing he won't understand it if I go my usual speed.

“A, a goon?” He makes a face, like the word tastes odd in his mouth. I laugh at him and walk over to his right side.

“Yes. A gun.” I over enunciate it again, but know it's a lost cause. There's no 'uh' sound in Espenia, unless you punch someone in the stomach or suchlike. Tempting as that is, now probably isn't the time. “This one is filled with gumballs.”

His perplexed look may be permanently fixed on his face by the end of our little session here. “But... But, why?” His voice shows how incredulous the idea is to him. I just shrug.

“Why not?” I smile at him. “Now, watch. This is why you ask before you touch.” I drop the bag on the table. Carefully, I set my feet in a shooting stance, relaxing my arms and neck muscles, and take a deep breath.. I line up the sight with the cubicle and start letting my breath out. About halfway through my lungful, I squeeze the trigger. Again, a small pop fills the room, and the candy projectile rockets through the air. This time, I hit what I'm aiming at. Or, I get pretty close.

As the gumbullet enters the mouth of the cubicle, a bright light flashes out, dying my vision a deep red. It is accompanied by a screech that leaves our ears ringing. I blink away the black spots the swim behind my eyes, trying to regain sight again. When I can see somewhat normally, I'm greeted by a very shocked Kike. His eyes are wide open, his jaw slack. His hair looks even more frazzled than usual, and there's a small twitch to his right eye. A certain smell in the air hints at just how surprised he was.

It's so funny, I can't help it. I bust out laughing. I fall forward, gripping the table as the shudders rock my body. I laugh long, and I laugh hard. I haven't laughed in awhile, with as nervous as I've been for today. All good things must come to an end though, such as when Kike decks me in the arms and starts yelling at me in rapid fire Espenia. He's going so fast, I can't understand him. I wipe the tears from my eyes and straighten up. I smile and say, “See? This is why you ask. Remember that.”

He crosses his arms and walks over to the one chair in the room and plunks himself down. I continue smiling as I set the gun down on the table and lean against the wall to catch my breath. My stomach hurts, as does my jaw, but these are good things.

“Why do you have such a strong protection on that, anyhow. Aren't you the only one who can get in here?” Kike asks, still miffed. I guess I can't blame him, since I really didn't give him all that much warning. “I mean, that could seriously hurt someone.”

I roll my eyes at him and walk over to the cubicle in question. “Most people don't go around touching random caca when they're in unfamiliar, clearly magicked territory.” I debate revealing my secret to him, and decide against it. It's not that I don't trust him. It's just kind of a big secret. Hush hush, military classified type thing. I knew I needed to pacify Kike on some level, though, since I needed friends more now than ever. So, I selected another cubicle, next to the door this time, and pull out a simple cardboard box. It's filled with an assortment of object. Coins, pencils, tops, etc. I plunk the box in front of him, saying “Here. Have fun.” He eyes the box cautiously and gives me a suspicious look. “Don't worry, they won't bite. Don't play too long, though. You'll miss first hour.”

“No I won't.” Kike replies. “There's a hatching today. I'm off for all of my regular classes, but I'm on call, though. Gotta be there at a moments notice.” He picks up a plain copper coin, flipping it into the air with his thumb. He's looking at me when he does it, so it take a moment for him to realize that it hasn't fallen into his waiting hand. Instead, it is floating in the air, spinning slowly in what would have been the apex. He blinks twice, then gingerly reaches his hand out to touch the coin. As soon as his finger makes contact, the coin falls, hitting the table with a clatter. He picks it up, priming his thumb to flip it again.

“I'll be right back. Gotta grab another chair.” I tell him, but he doesn't hear me. Attention is fully focused on the coin. I shrug, and walk out of the door.

I feel the usual wards snap into place again behind me, and briefly wonder if the doors open from the inside, and whether or no the rooms are airtight. Guess I'll just have to make it back in a reasonable amount of time, lest I find out.

I back track to where we left Sarin and Debina, leaning against the wall of the outer hallway. Sarin nods at me once before lowering her head back to the customary position. Debina immediately drops her gaze to the floor. I move so I'm standing in front of Sarin, and she looks up at me. Quickly, she looks left, and then right and, when she notes that the halls are empty, drops the act. She grins and says “Seems like someone was being naughty. Was it you that triggered the ward?”

I smile, chuckling a bit at the memory. I give her a brief summary of what happened and can't help but start laughing all over again. Sarin joins me, her laugh like the sweetest bell, and I even catch Debina smiling.

“So, yeah. I'm heading to find another chair to sit in, and then I'm gonna work on my tribute until I'm called.”

Sarin's smile turns conspiratorial. “You skipping your classes?” I nod. “You'll need this then.” She unclips a small bell for the left side of her belt. She wiggles the handle a few times, showing me just how little sound it makes. She hands it to me and I give it an experimental shake. No matter how hard I swing it, nothing more than a tiny tinkle comes out.

“What's this for?” I ask, shaking the little brass cone with comical enthusiasm, eliciting another rare grin from Debina.

Sarin rolls her eyes and says, “That's the bell that'll tell you when you're being summoned to the High Council. When they want you, it'll start making noise. Then, the sound will get louder as you near their chamber. Duh.” She rolls her eyes again, making it pretty plain that I should know this already.

I nod and consider this, and a thought hits me. “Wait, how will you know when they call me?” I definitely need her there. I refuse to contemplate a situation where she is not at my side while I present my tribute.

Naturally, she has other plans. “I won't.” She thinks a moment, “Or, I won't at first. I'll find out eventually though. I tend to hear these things. Good hearing comes with the whole “Blind” thing.” I let out a little huff, trying to portray just how little I wanted to believe her. She won't hear any of it though. “Oh, shut up. You'll be fine. Like I said, everyone loves you. You could pass this thing asleep. I, on the other hand, am going to go get some breakfast in the slave wing. You keeping Enrique entertained for awhile?” I nod. “Good. I'll take Debina with me. We can finish gossiping.” And with that, she starts to walk away. Typical.

Debina goes to follow her, and then stops. I see her visibly tense, and I catch a whiff of indecision, and fear. Then, with an effort, she turns around and faces me. She lifts Kike's bag off of her shoulders and hands it to me. “There's a bell for him in the front pocket, like the one you have. It's for the hatching.” As I take the bag, our hands brush, and I feel the usual sparkle of skin on skin. I must have projected it a bit too, because Debina breaks form and looks up, into my eyes, for just a moment.

Never one to miss an opportunity, I flash her the brightest, most assuring smile I can, and ask, “What are you two gossiping about anyhow?” She ducks her head and turns away, obviously ignoring my question. I know other people might have her punished for such insolence, but I love it. Seeing a slave break the stupid rules that govern their lives is one of my favorite things here.

As I walk toward the nearest room with chairs, an auditorium, I loop the bag over my shoulder and pocket the bell. I really am curious about what Sarin and Debina could be gossiping over. I mean, I didn't think that slaves did anything without their master's. When do they see other slaves? And then, what could they possibly have heard/seen? Maybe they gossip about their masters? No, that would be too risky, wouldn't it? I table the question for later as I reach the auditorium. Some class is in session, so I snag a chair quietly and turn around.

I retrace my way back to the Armory, trusting instinct and repetition to get me there safely. There's a small knot at the bottom of my stomach, it's cause unknown. I think, trying to figure out what's wrong, and come up with nothing. That's another problem with this “grayness” inside my head. It tends to interfere with introspection, as well as muting emotion. Sarin says it'll go away eventually.

That's it. Sarin. Sarin won't be with me in the Council chamber. That scares the hell out of me. There is so much weird ettiquet here, I rely on her so much to make sure I follow the rules. I don't know if I can do this without her. As soon as I really start to stress, though, the grayness comes in and steals my thunder. Oh well. I'll deal.

I find my way back to my Armory, and walk back inside. Kike is sitting in the same place, sitting the same way, except for now he's playing with a top that whistles as you spin it.

“That one's not magicked at all, you know? It's just how you whittle the wood.” I explain. Kike jumps, bumping the table and knocking the top over. I laugh and set up the chair across from him. Kike says nothing, simply spinning the top again.

Since he's saying nothing, I stay quiet. I cross to a cubicle that sits behind Kike and pull out a sheaf of papers. All of the spells for my most recent projects. I flip through them idly, savoring their smell. I pull a chair up to the table and sit down. Now, I can get down to work.

Author's Note

Hasn't really been checked for fluency anymore than once of twice. Same with spelling, content and everything.

Reviews

[Paul McKnight]

Wait no longer. I just added two more chapters. Let me know what you think. Tell your friends, tell your enemies. Anyone. :) And, as always, I am open to any comments, constructive or otherwise. I love hearing from people. Thanks.

[Night]

cool beginning of a story! I love it! I can't wait for more!