Hidden Reasons

Joree had been expecting the summons from Master Hobar. It actually came later that he’d anticipated, nearly three days since the Power Duels. Hobar’s class had been rather awkward since Joree’s ‘victory’, as no one was quite sure what to make of the outcome. They seemed unsure if it counted or not, and Joree could sympathize.

Regardless, the time had come to face his Master. Joree already knew that Hobar was displeased with Joree’s refusal of the champion title, but he didn’t much care. It wasn’t that he felt he didn’t deserve it or wasn’t worthy or some such nonsense, he just knew that it would draw unwarranted attention to him and his inability to use Will. After all, it would place him in the royal household, in direct sight of Highness Arellia. The Highness was not a merciful or kind woman, and seemed to view people the same way others viewed tools. She would put a person wherever she thought they would be of most use to society, and Joree didn’t like his chances. He would likely end up as the royal janitor or stable hand.

The deep scowl on Hobar’s face as Joree entered was almost comical. Joree smiled at his Master, giving a respectful inclination of the head.

“Sit, Joree,” Hobar ordered, face remaining sour. Joree obeyed, taking the hard wooden seat across from the elderly man. It seemed designed to make its occupant feel small and uncomfortable.

“What in the Fires of Arkadia were you thinking, turning down the Highness herself?”

So, no building up to it then. Well, perhaps it was better this way.

“I didn’t turn down the Highness herself,” Joree said calmly. “I turned down a bald, portly fellow who tried to give me a piece of paper.” He patted the bag hanging from his side. “I have plenty of paper in here, and that one was already written on. Could hardly do anything with it anyway.”

Hobar’s face grew red at this, and Joree kept his face carefully calm. If he laughed, or even smirked, he could very easily end up with some sort of punishment. Master Hobar’s favorite punishments usually involved staying late after class to organize his mess of paperwork. Joree was fairly certain that troublesome students were the only reason that any of Hobar’s paperwork got done. Arkadia’s Halls knew the man never did any of it himself.

“I can see you are taking this with your customary flippancy,” Hobar said with clear disdain. “It’s a shame you never had someone to teach you to control yourself.”

Joree cocked an eyebrow at this. “What do you mean by that, sir?” His voice was light, but his eyes hid a challenge.

Hobar didn’t seem fazed. “If your father had stuck around, your mother wouldn’t have her hands full trying to raise a…er, you while also providing for the needs of the house.” Joree wondered, just briefly, what insulting name Hobar had almost called him.

“Yes, well,” Joree replied. “Based on what my mother has told me, if my father had stuck around, I would be even worse. So perhaps we should just be grateful.”

Hobar pursed his lips. “Yes,” he muttered musingly. “Perhaps.” He shook his head. “Regardless, you have made a foolish decision. I hope you are prepared to pay the consequence.”

“Which would be?” Joree prompted.

Hobar, surprisingly, shrugged. “I have no idea. But I am very worried.”

***

Jistan woke up feeling like someone had squeezed inside his brain and was now furiously pounding on the inside of his skull, demanding to be set free.

He groaned, wanting to sit up and stretch his stiff muscles, but doubting his throbbing head could handle the movement.

He kept his eyes shut, breathing steadily and trying to hold his head as still as possible. Slowly, the pounding subsided until it was just a dull pulse. Finally, he allowed himself to look at his surroundings.

He was in an infirmary. He frowned. Why in the Will Maker’s holy name would he be here? The last thing he could remember was…was…Arkadia, he couldn’t think. How long had he been here? Had there been an accident?

He caught movement in his peripherals, but didn’t dare turn his head to look for fear of aggravating his headache.

“Oh, thank Arcadia’s Halls,” someone breathed. He recognized the voice as his mother’s. A moment later, her face appeared directly above his own. Her smile was both relieved and concerned.

“Jan?” she said, using the nickname his older brother had given him when they were children. Royan hadn’t been able to say ‘ist’, so he had simply shortened the name to ‘Jan’.

He tried to reply, but his voice was raw. It came out as a croak. His mother placed a hand over his. “Hush now, it’s all right.”

He cleared his throat painfully, forcing himself to speak. “What-what happened?”

Her eyes got a strange look to them. “You were in the Power Duels. Do you remember?”

He frowned, trying to think. The Power Duels…yes, that was right. He had been preparing for those diligently. He thought he remembered his mother making him a big breakfast to celebrate, but after that…He was drawing a blank.

“No,” he croaked softly.

She patted his arm sympathetically. “Let me get you some water. You just rest.”

He frowned as she left. Why was she being so cryptic? What had happened at the Power Duels? Had he somehow been injured? Frustrated with the holes in his memory, he lay motionless, waiting for his mother to return.

***

Arellia walked with her back straight and her head high. She was already a tall woman, and standing erect made her appear larger than life. Furl, her chief bodyguard against physical attacks (she needed no help against Will), tried not to look like he was rushing to keep up with her.

Furl respected the Highness. She was a hard woman, but everything she did was in the best interest of the kingdom. Even if Furl didn’t always agree with it.

“Fiedon,” she said, using the formal title for an esteemed bodyguard, “continue your report.” They had been interrupted by a messenger with urgent news from King Grivis of Hilinda, one of Manicot’s many colonies in the eastern wilds. She held the paper in her hand, but hadn’t yet deigned to share its contents. Well, if it was a threat to her, she would tell him eventually.

“Yes, Highness,” he said. He would have bowed as well if they weren’t walking so velching fast.

“The Delani have nearly punched a hole through the northern defensives. General Bord has been forced back into his stronghold and is barely holding them back. He lost a lot of people and needs support.”

Arellia nodded once, as if this was all to be expected.

“I contacted the other Generals, but none have sufficient reserves to send help,” Furl continued. “The Delani seem determined to drive a wedge straight down the middle of our defenses, putting the most pressure at the northern border, but not giving a chance for our wings to come to their aid.”

“Fortunately,” the Highness said coolly, “we still have plenty of reserves.” She gestured around herself, apparently indicating everyone inside of Ranteel, perhaps all of Manicot.

Furl tried to conceal his instinctive grimace. He needn’t have bothered. Arellia was paying him little heed.

“The Power Duels have already given us an indication of who is battle worthy,” Arellia continued, voice as calm as if they were discussing what vegetable should go with dinner, rather than the lives of young children.

This was one of the cases in which Furl disagreed with his superior. She was logical, intelligent, and careful. But she was also hard and unmerciful, handling her subjects with little more care than a farmer wielding a hoe.

“The Power Duels?” Furl clarified cautiously. “Surely we are no so desperate as to start recruiting that young. In the past, those were only used as benchmarks, indications of those we should take special note of.”

“In the past, the Delani did not hold firm control over the Unaki tribes and the southern sea,” she replied.

That was true. The Delani had been gaining ground slowly, taking over other nations a little at a time. They had yet to truly breech Manicot, but they were growing frighteningly close.

“Highness,” Furl said hesitantly, uncertain whether he should vocalize his thoughts or not.

“Fiedon?” Arellia prompted.

He squared his shoulders. “Perhaps we should consider telling the people what we are up against. I understand your reasoning in the past, but now the situation has grown far more urgent. The Delani-”

“Will never be a threat to the regular citizens,” Arellia finished, a tone of finality to her voice. “I will not cause panic among the people, nor give reason for them to cower in fear. They must all continue to strive for greater Will. It is our only chance of survival. If we allow terror to rule us, we will grow weak.”

Furl sighed inwardly. He had heard all of these arguments before. He understood them, to an extent. If the people panicked and hid, they wouldn’t continue to develop Will, and then all of humankind would be doomed. But if they were so weak that simply hearing the truth would cause them to shrink, then weren’t they doomed anyway?

“Have you looked in to the extra matter I gave you?” Arellia asked, pulling him from his musings.

He shook his head briefly to clear it. “It’s just as Master Hobar said. The boy lives alone with his mother, Narissa. They raise animals, living on eggs and cheese they trade for necessities. The boy’s father is unknown by anyone I have made contact with thus far. Apparently, he was already gone when Narissa moved to Ranteel, just days before giving birth. No one even knows the man’s name.”

“Have you met with the mother?”

Furl frowned. “No.” He wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about. So, a child had been injured in the Power Duels. It happened. Why was she making such a big deal out of this one boy? Rumor claimed strange events surrounded the injury, but Furl hadn’t watched the tournament, and he wasn’t one to give much credence to idle gossip.

“Do so. I get the feeling there is something Hobar isn’t telling us.”

Furl nodded once. Arellia would get what she wanted, regardless of whether or not he agreed.

***

Jistan’s mind, body, and memory slowly recovered, and he was released to go home. He remembered with shame his loss in the championship duel, the blinding pain shredding at his insides, and the ominous sound that had cracked against his eardrums. It all seemed so impossible. He had never felt or heard anything like it. Was it possible that his opponent knew of some new way to use Will? The thought was both exhilarating and frightening.

At home, his family was understandably subdued. They had all been counting on him to win the championship this year, and receive the rewards from Highness Arellia. These included family compensation (for both biological and marital family) for the duration of the lives of all current living family members, as well as a position in the royal house for the champion. This could be anything from a dignitary to a cook, depending entirely on the desire of the champion.

Not that his family was poor. On the contrary, they receive a generous stipend from the royal house already, due to the service Jistan’s father and older sister were currently paying their country. It was some sort of confidential mission, and even the family was not allowed to know the details. All Jistan knew was that it was dangerous, and he almost never saw his father and sister. When he did, they were tight-lipped and refused to give even the slightest hint of their whereabouts.

That was the real problem. If Jistan had won, he could have brought his father and sister back home to safety without any financial repercussions. But he had failed.

A sharp rapping on the front door caused Jistan to jump, jerked abruptly from his brooding. His younger brother, Enak, scrambled to the door. At fourteen years, Enak still had the build and coordination of an eight year old. He threw the door open unceremoniously, revealing an unfamiliar figure. She was slight of build and medium height, with blond hair that had a natural sheen of blue when caught in the light. She wore tight fitted leggings and a silken vest over a collared shirt. The vest was emblazoned with the royal insignia, a snake wrapped around a fist.

“Is this the home of Sackrin and Venara Mandol?” the strange asked sharply.

Enak gaped for a moment, blinking several times.

“Yes,” Jistan said, rising from his chair and moving towards the door. He gently placed a hand on Enak’s shoulder and pulled him back a few steps. “Please, would you like to come in?” he offered. “I can go find my mother, although my father is not here.”

The woman waved a dismissive hand. “No need to get your mother. You are Jistan Mandol, I presume?”

“I am.”

“Excellent.” She presented a rolled up piece of paper, sealed with a wax stamp of the snake fist. The woman began speaking again, this time in a quick, clipped tone that made it sound as if she were giving a rehearsed speech.

“In the name of Highness Arellia, I present you with the title of Power Duel Champion, by right of forfeit. You are to report to the royal court by dawn tomorrow. Further instruction can be found in the scroll.”

With this, she held up a fist in a brief signal of farewell, then turned and marched away. Jistan couldn’t help but notice the tattoo of a snake wrapping around her hand.

Jistan stared after her, the scroll held limply in his hand. He didn’t even remember taking it.

“Forfeit?” Enak exclaimed. “Who would forfeit the championship? What is she talking about?”

Jistan shook his head, equally baffled.

But a glimmer of hope also arose inside of him. If this were real, then maybe he could still save his family after all.