Alarum and Altruism

“My name is Master Vilvaga.” The intimidating Jod boomed as the initiates listened intently. Though they had been told that they would not be required to kneel before anyone, they had the intense desire at this moment to cower before this giant man. Despite his simple white robe and hairless head, he demanded respect and absolute attention through his posture and from the way he glared at every single one of the children who stood before him. Kiinrin was no exception, and he attempted to quell the irrational fear and awe that rose in him at every word. “I will be your mentor and teacher as you are trained to live up to the men and women who have come before you.”

They all stood in a crimson room, red wooden boards compiling every surface. Behind Vilvaga blazed a golden hearth that radiated heat through the entire room and chased the cold away. The children wore brown tunics and loose pants that whispered as they walked, made of an unfamiliar material. Vilvaga stood on a wooden platform at the front of the room, a few yards in front of the group of children. Spherical lanterns swung above the children, throwing lights and shadows across every inch of the space. The children had naturally gathered themselves in rows and lines like soldiers after they had arrived. Kiinrin thought that it was appropriate, given that this was to be their training.

“Sir?” One of the children said timidly, raising a shaking hand. Vilvaga nodded curtly, granting the child permission to speak. The young speaker stepped forward out of the group, a young boy of slender proportions. He was significantly taller than the other children, but his thin arms and legs gave him the appearance of a reed swaying in the wind.

“What will you be teaching us?” He nearly whispered, eyes downcast and head bowed. Vilvaga regarded him in silence for a moment, eyes boring into the child.

“What is your name?” He barked abruptly, and every child winced.

“Qui-qui-Quinlix.” The child stuttered, wincing at the harshness of Vilvaga’s command. “Quinlix  Ziliansson.”

“Quinlix, eh?” Vilvaga said slowly. He turned to the rest of the children. “Was Quinlix the only one who thought to ask this question?” None of the children moved, including Kiinrin; he had not thought that it was an important question to ask. Vilvaga made a tsk-tsk sound with his mouth as he gave Quinlix a little nudge back in line. “Quinlix asked an excellent question, young ones. Can anyone tell me why?” He looked out expectantly at the children. “Well?”

Utira, the serf from Matrikai, raised her hand quickly. “Because we should always know what we will be learning so that we can prepare ourselves for it.”

“Excellent!” Vilvaga said, revealing an almost impish grin that did not match his authoritative figure. Almost at once, Kiinrin began to notice that Vilvaga did not entirely hold himself like a taskmaster. The way he leaned to one side, the way his eyes danced with his exclamation of praise, they did not proclaim him an overseer or master. They proclaimed him a friend, a mentor, just as he said he would be. Kiinrin immediately realized that his entire display of power and authority had been put on simply to be broken, to allow the children to bond with him. It was a brilliant move, and Kiinrin found himself respecting Vilvaga even more.

“I see our Crown Prince is realizing something important.” Vilvaga said, and Kiinrin looked up to see Vilvaga’s eyes twinkling as they stared at him. “Perhaps he would like to share?” Kiinrin felt his face flush, but he repeated softly what he had just thought to himself.

“Exactly!” Vilvaga shouted with delight. “When Lord Valanal said that you would bow to no one, dear children, he meant it. I am no exception. I am your teacher, your mentor.” He looked fondly at each one of the children in turn. “But I can also be a friend.” The children were all smiling now, all evidence of fear or cowering washed away from their small frames.

Quinlix raised his hand once more, a puzzled look etching his features. “Um, sir?” He said. “You still have not answered the original question.”

Vilvaga laughed, a deep, rich sound that filled Kiinrin’s heart with warmth. “I suppose I haven’t, have I?” Quinlix smiled and laughed awkwardly, wringing his hands from apparent nervousness. Vilvaga waved his hand at Quinlix, and Quinlix stepped back in line.

“I will teach you many things.” Vilvaga began, pacing around the platform above the children. “I will teach you how to fight with weapons of different kinds, whether it be stave, spear, axe, hammer, or sword. I will teach you how to fight with honor so as not to draw the ire of Aia.” A few Junarian children grimaced at that, and Kiinrin was surprised. Even though Junar was a Diradis country, a few obviously held to the old pagan beliefs. Strange.

“I will teach you how to know yourself,” Vilvaga continued. “I will teach how to find your weaknesses and turn them into strengths. You will be able to discover who you are, why you are here, and what purpose you have.”

“Isn’t our purpose to train?” One of the older boys next to Kiinrin snickered, but Vilvaga paid him no heed other than a furtive glare sent his direction. The smile left the boy’s face quickly as shame crept up in his cheeks.

“I will teach you how to sacrifice for the greater good.” Vilvaga proclaimed, levity gone from his voice. “The service of Aia often requires one to give up his own desires to benefit the many. You will all learn to do this, or else you shall have no place.” He smiled in response to the wide-eyes and scared faces from the children. “Be comforted, little ones, for Aia will not allow you sacrifice for naught. True joy comes from service and sacrifice, and believe my words, I will teach you the true meaning of joy.” The children’s fearful looks were once more replaced with awe as they listened to their teacher’s words. Kiinrin was impressed with the way Vilvaga commanded the children’s emotions. Somehow, he knew that it was a talent very few men possessed.

As Vilvaga went on, naming different skills and talents the children would come to possess, Kiinrin began to contemplate the gaps in his knowledge of information- rather, he contemplated the lack of them. His ailment of the mind had incapacitated him for nearly fifteen years, and as such, he should not know of the things he knew. He should not know that statesmanship was a difficult calling that few men could perform well, just as he should not be able to recall what the word ‘statesmanship’ meant. He should not be able to reason with logic for he had never been taught the nuances of rationalization. Kiinrin slowly began to realize that Vilkanai and the Aether had not only healed his mind, it had replaced all the information and knowledge he would have gained if he had been born a normal boy. Tears welled up in Kiinrin’s eyes as immense gratitude gripped his heart. This was a debt he could hardly ever repay.

“Your training shall begin in the morning.” Vilvaga said, wrapping up his speech. “For now, Lady Vulirnia will show you to your beds.”

“Excuse me, sir?” One little girl asked, stepping forward. She was young, younger than most children who were taken; she could not have been older than ten. “What is that strange spike on your wrist?”

Vilvaga smiled. “That, children, is quite possibly the most important question you could ask.” He said quietly, placing a finger on the white spike. The children gasped as it rose out of his skin slowly, completely white, without a trace of blood or grime on it. “Would you like me to show you?” The children all nodded vigorously, completely entranced by the strange sight. The spike was now about six inches long and curved like it had been pressed between two spheres. It resembled a sword hilt more than anything else.

With a fluid motion, Vilvaga grasped the spike with his right hand and pulled with an enormous force. The spike ripped out of his hand, trailed by a milky white substance that flowed out of his veins onto the circular end of the spike. The substance slowly began to coalesce and elongate against the end of the hilt, clearly forming the blade of the sword. The blade itself resembled the waves of the sea, rising away from the center then immediately snapping back again and again. Suddenly, the white liquid trailed off and the sword ended in a vicious point at the end of the waves. Where the sword had been pulled out of Vilvaga’s arm lay a gaping wound that, as the children watched, sealed itself up.

The children stood in complete awe as their teacher descended from the wooden platform holding a sword nearly three feet long and curved several times over. The more Kiinrin looked at it, it resembled less of the sea and more of the motions of a snake as it slithered along the ground.

Viperbite. Kiinrin thought, realizing at last what the sword was, but still unsure as to how he actually knew. One of the five kinds of Bloodblades. But, then, why isn’t it made of blood?

“Does anyone know what this is?” Vilvaga asked the children, who all slowly shook their heads. Kiinrin vaguely remembered from some strange piece of information that these children were unlikely to know what a Bloodblade was. Most were serfs or children of Var, lowly Steelwielders. Bloodwielders were of the high nobility, and they were very protective of their secret.

“Anyone?” Vilvaga repeated, looking around the room. His eyes fell on Kiinrin, and they sparkled once more. “I daresay our Crown Prince should know.”

“Well…” Kiinrin said slowly. “It looks like a Bloodblade.”

“But?” Vilvaga prompted, gesturing towards the sword. “What is different?”

“Well, it isn’t made of blood, yes?” Kiinrin said with a cough. “So it can’t be a Bloodblade, right?”

“Correct.” Vilvaga said. He looked back at all the other children. “I do not have time now to educate you all on the lore and knowledge of the Bloodblades, so I will give you a brief summary. Bloodblades are, as they sound, swords made of the owner’s blood. They are created through many oaths and a blood offering, which in turn grants the bearer enhanced senses based upon what type of Blade it is.” He gestured to his own sword, swinging it around in a delightful show of battle prowess. “This is the parent, I suppose you could call it, of the Bloodblades. Upon induction into our order, you will all receive one of these as a symbol of fellowship in the order of the Jods.” There was a collective gasp at that statement; Kiinrin was not exempt. Among the boys especially, it was a dream of theirs to wield blades. To wield a blade that granted the bearer powers and glory? It was quite nearly too much for them to handle.

At that precise moment, an earsplitting noise pierced the ears of all the children. Their hands went instinctively to their ears as they cried out in pain, the noise deafening and shrill. Vilvaga appeared unaffected, though a look of intense fear flashed over his face for a split second. He shook his head, stabbing his sword back into his arm. It immediately liquified and was sucked back into the reopened wound, until only the spike remained outside Vilvaga’s flesh.

“Children, I want you to follow Lady Vulirnia.” Vilvaga said, his voice imperceptibly trembling. “She will take you to your beds. Stay there until the alarms subside.” Kiinrin nodded along with the other children and turned toward Lady Vulirnia. At that moment, he noticed something odd and a little disconcerting.

Where was Jiriinii?