(TLO) Chapter 55: Promise (Patreon)

Clint found Seth and Timi sometime in the morning perhaps three hours before noon.

When he found them, Seth came awake from his slumber—woken by his minds—in the uncomfortable crook of a particularly large tree covered in brown moss. He cracked an eye open to find the priest standing over him but watching a slumbering Timi.

Off in the distance a priest he did not recognize studied the reia beast Timi had killed. The reia beast they had killed.

“You will explain yourself, Al Jabari,” Clint said, eyes still fixed disturbingly on Timi. “Then your brother will explain the creature.”

Seth had a feeling the man intended to come across as intimidating. But while he did come across as intimidating, he also came across as a threat. History was beginning to teach Seth how much he did not like threats.

So he replied as he would to any threat.

“You lost my brother,” he said, “and I found him with his life on the line. As for the creature, you have a battered brother, a dead reia beast, and a massive stone. Take a wild guess, Reverend.”

Clint scowled at this but said nothing further. Clint was naturally one of the calmer priests, but it didn’t take Seth much to realize he had been pushing a boundary he would not have dared with Igor and he thanked whatever existence kept Clint calm even in the face of his disrespect as Clint walked away.

And that was the last that was heard on the subject.

Later in the week as Timi recovered from his injuries under the care of the healer, the Rector questioned them on the event. Timi had held his tongue, feigning fatigue and weakness due to his injuries while Seth told a tale of a mildly brave boy fighting for his life and a sneaky seminarian with a big rock.

To his surprise, Dante Faust didn’t press the topic. He listened to their tale—for that was what it was—and bid them greater care for themselves as he left.

Suffice to say, their questioning was mundane and unceremonious.

Seth and his brothers spent the remaining months before their next test engrossed in their training. They learned the weapons of the seminary as was the way, learning more advanced techniques of the sword from Igor so that they found themselves using muscles they’d had no idea were needed to use the sword.

From Domitia they learned how to fend off multiple targets. He did not necessarily teach them how to win against multiple opponents. He taught them to survive an ambush, to escape when victory was not in sight. For this lesson they found themselves working with children from other dormitories. It was their first encounter since joining the seminary.

First they would fight off two opponents, then Domitia would increase the number until it seemed too much and they all tired out. Often times the reverse would be the case and they would be the ones being used to train other children. In this way Domitia taught them that priests were not so prideful that they did not know when to retreat.

Emriss taught them to use the bow on fast moving targets. She did this with a contraption they had not seen before. It was something she attached their targets to, and its work was simple. It moved the target from side to side, randomly raising it and bringing it down. It executed the monotonous movement from one end of their training hall to the next.

In the months after she introduced this, very few of them succeeded in hitting their targets, and even then, consistency was a prudish fancy lady; evasive and curt.

Reverend Oscar added a new training to their perfection of the knife. Now he brought smaller knives, perhaps two inches in length and without protective handles. With this, he set up targets at a distance and commanded they hit their targets. Throwing knives were a new task in target practice.

At first they had thought it would be easy enough. They believed their aims would be bolstered by their practice of the bow under Emriss. It did not take long to know they were gravely wrong.

First, the knives did not fly as arrows did, and they were forced to adjust their hold as well as their release, swinging arms and flicking wrists to meet their aim. It was an arduous task that they eventually learned sufficiently enough to please Oscar in three months. But none of them were under the illusion that they had perfected it.

There was no change in Typhon’s training save the addition of weights to everything they did. It made it more difficult, more strenuous, but not new. It seemed there were only so many inventive ways to train the body.

A new priest was added to their training, and he took up the freedom of their Sunday. He called himself Nehemiah and he brought with him the teaching of how to use a poleaxe for his training.

He taught them how best to fend of enemies en masse with the weapon. They learned during their training in it that while it was a primary weapon of the seminary, rarely were there ever priests who used it. Still, they learned and they practiced, fending off each other with wrapped blades, dulled from the clothes that covered them. This, however, did not eliminate the risk of pain and injury.

………………………………………

Rumors of their second test came long before the test itself. These rumors grew from the lips of the older children to their ears.

In one version of the test they would hunt wild animals and test their strengths against them. Another version had them hunting reia beasts in a test of survival. The last of the three claimed they would be sent out to hunt down soul beasts. Only those who caught theirs would be granted soul fragments and be allowed to absorb them. This was a test to advance onto the path of a soul mage.

The thought of finally commanding reia motivated them far greater than Seth had thought it would, as it seemed the time had come for them to be souled.

So when their test came, they were as eager as the mind of fifteen-year-olds could be.

They soon came to learn that the priests called it the test of nature, and it came at the heart of winter, two days before Seth’s birthday.

……………………………

“You will all be tested again…” Rector Faust addressed them.

They stood at the training yard they had stood a year ago before their first test, addressed in the same manner as they had been once before. A notable difference now was their number. While the reduction was not significant, it was noticeable. The first test had taken much of them.

Another difference was the weather. Their first test had been held away from winter, at least a month before it, when it was cold enough to remember in mind but not enough to be noted in body. Now, the snow fell heavily and all of them were clad in the fur cloak the seminary provided during winter. Seth still wondered why they didn’t just give them sweaters or winter coats as normal people wore. In the outside world even the poor could get their hands on such things without strain. The ruling bodies—governments and Barons—had made such basic amenities free for all who required it.

Despite the winter’s cold, the priests remained clad in their cassocks. They did not tremble or shiver. If the cold affected them, they did not show it.

“… before this test begins, you will be allowed entry into the armory,” Faust continued. “There you will pick your weapon or weapons of choice, as you will need all the help you can get. I advise for the sake of your safe return that you pick something you have near perfected. Pick something you find comfort in, weapons you will entrust your life to. Because this test is of the hunt. And while you will be the hunter, the creatures you will be hunting are not used to being the prey. They will hunt you just as efficiently as you will hunt them. As for…”

“I don’t like this,” Barnabas whispered from beside Forlorn. “It sounds as if they’re sending us out to get killed.”

“Did you miss the part about us getting to pick our own weapons?” Fin said quietly.

“And what good will they do us?” Forlorn asked. “What happens if we come across a soul beast?”

“Then you die loudly so that someone else can kill it,” Jason answered, annoyed. “Now shut up.”

“What did you say?” Forlorn turned to their brother, only to be held back by Barnabas. His frown was deep and angered but he did not fight Barnabas. “Keep acting the part, Jason. One day you’ll be forced to remember you’re not our leader.”

Jason turned to him with a cold gaze. “I will make sure you survive this,” he said. “Then you will thank me. Until then, you will hold your tongue.”

In the months since the conclusion of their first test, Jason had enforced himself as their unofficial leader. He took responsibility when they happened to offend their instructors as a group and imposed himself between fights. He was their leader in all but name and it worried Forlorn greatly.

Fin had fallen in line without question, not that it surprised anyone. So had Salem. Bartholomew hadn’t really cared, listening when it suited him. He did not go against the boy actively but neither did he go out of his way to obey.

Barnabas followed for the sake of peace, pulling a reluctant Forlorn along. Whatever friendship they were brewing had seemed to tame Forlorn, made him susceptible to Barnabas’ suggestions.

Seth cared naught for any of it. He was rarely in a position to have to listen to instructions or obey commands. In truth, he couldn’t care less for the boy and his subtle power play. But he often found himself playing the part Barnabas played, listening, but not obeying, for the sake of peace. The reason was simple. Unlike the rest of them, Timi did not care for conversation or compromise. He listened to no one if they weren’t Seth. And most times Jason was in the right. So often times Seth followed because it was the only way for Timi to follow. With Silverfang gone and his continued growing size that was now exchanging fat for muscles, not many of their remaining brothers were willing to make the attempt of coarsing him into what he did not want.

“Are some of us going to die?”

Seth turned his attention at Timi’s words. He hesitated before he answered.

“Would you like the truth?” he asked.

Timi nodded. “Because rumor has it that some of us will not come back.”

Seth cocked a brow. This rumor must’ve come from the older boys. They were the only ones who would have enough knowledge of the tests to spread any rumors about it. He doubted Timi’s rumors would’ve come from the reverends.

“I don’t want you to die,” Timi said, after a while. “Is there anything we can do about it?”

Seth paused. It was odd that Timi would so easily believe Seth was likely to die.

When Seth finally spoke, his words to Timi were said slowly. “Do the rumors say I’ll die?”

Timi turned his attention to the side, lips poised in thought.

“No,” he answered finally. “Just that some of us will. And I don’t want you to be one.”

“But you won’t,” Bartholomew interrupted.

Timi spared the boy the barest of his attention before returning it to Seth. Will they allow us work together, he signed with quick hands, taking the conversation into privacy.

Seth shook his head and signed back. I don’t know.

Can we ask?

I would not advise it.

“You can’t just cut the rest of us out of a conversation and ex—” Bartholomew reached for Timi’s shoulder and Seth grabbed his wrist.

“Sometimes,” he said, meeting the boy’s eyes. “It is best to stay out of conversations you were not invited into.”

He had intended for his words to come out as a piece of advice but something in his brother’s eyes told him he had failed. The eyes that stared back at him told him it had heard nothing but a threat.

All the while Timi didn’t take his eyes off Seth. It was as if he cared for nothing else in this moment. Solving the problem of keeping Seth alive was the only thing that mattered him.

Seth was forced to tilt his head back to keep his eye on Bartholomew standing behind Timi. His hand did not wrap around the boy’s wrist completely but it did not matter. His intention had been to stop the boy from touching Timi, and he had succeeded. All else was unimportant.

“You do not want to offend me, Seth,” Bartholomew snarled. “I’m twice your size and can put you down without batting an eye.”

Did Salem’s pet listener just threaten us? One of Seth’s minds asked, enraged.

Seth was about to respond when something about Timi’s mood shifted. It wasn’t obvious. Seth wasn’t even certain if it was the boy’s expression. Something about him simply darkened, reminding Seth of the time in the mist when he’d found him with the shrike, and Seth was forced to shift his gaze. He found Timi’s eyes a darker brown than normal and his spine tingled.

He released Bartholomew’s wrist immediately. Unsure of what to do, he signed to Timi hurriedly. I won’t die.

Timi did not react to him. The boy simply turned his head to give Bartholomew the attention he had been looking for. Seth grabbed his friend’s shirt at the chest, halting him. He did not pull at it. Neither did he push, for fear of antagonizing his brother. But he held firm. Nothing good was going to come from Timi turning his attention on Bartholomew, especially with the Rector speaking in front of them. Bartholomew was big but only when compared to Seth. Except for Fin, Timi was big to everyone, even some of the reverends.

But his choice of silence and decision to speak only to Seth often gave their brothers the illusion that his size was the only intimidating thing about him.

Seth had seen enough to know otherwise.

Timi returned his attention to Seth slowly. The action seemed to take forever so that when their eyes met, Seth held it. He looked into the darkening brown slowly becoming black, and spoke.

“I will not die.”

Timi’s eyes softened but did not lighten. His mouth pressed in a line and his gaze wavered. Seth waited, watched, unwilling to force a response from him but needing one. Despite Timi’s calm, he felt the boy at the brink of violence.

Just because someone interrupted us? One of Seth’s mind asked, confused.

He doesn’t like them, another explained. He never has.

Why?

Seth ignored their bickering, hoping they were at least listening to Faust, in case the Rector said something important.

We’re listening, a mind thought. We’re always listening. In fact, in case you didn’t notice, Igor is watching this little drama we have going on.

Seth fought the urge to look for Igor, leaving the priest to his minds.

“I won’t die,” Seth repeated, hoping, praying his brother was listening.

“Promise?” Timi asked, his deep voice a quiet rumble, Bartholomew now forgotten.

Seth smiled at him the way Jonathan always had when reassuring him. “Promise.”

This seemed to calm Timi. It was the calmness of the appeased not the calm of a boiling cauldron ready to blow at the least expected moment he’d held but a moment ago. Behind him Bartholomew watched them, an odd suspicion in his eyes. It reminded Seth of the way Clint often looked at Barnabas and Forlorn when they were huddled around the fire during his lessons.

Seth was about to object to the look when one of his minds distracted him.

There it is, it thought. We’ve been wondering how long we’d have to wait before it showed up.

Seth frowned as he focused his attention mildly. With naught but a shrug of his will a notification came to life before him.

Quest Imminent….

Predicting… Predicting… Predicting…

Prediction Failed.

...

Calculating… Calculating… Calculating…

Quest found…

...

Prepare for Incoming Quest…

...

New Quest: ????????

Possible Reward: Skill.

Possible Consequence: Death, Expulsion.

“I just can’t catch a break,” Seth mumbled.

Behind him Igor replied. “No, you cannot.”

Seth sighed inwardly. This was just what he needed, a flogging from a stupid priest just before a physical test. It was as if Igor wanted him to fail this one.

“With me!” Igor barked, then turned away. Seth followed begrudgingly, Timi and Bartholomew following behind him.

“Not you two,” Igor added without looking back. “I only want Jabari.”

Timi bristled behind Seth as Bartholomew happily turned back. Seth held out a hand to calm his friend.

“I’ll be fine,” he promised, knowing very well there was no truth in his words. “Go on ahead, I’ll catch up.”

When Timi turned back, Seth returned his attention to find Igor staring at him.

“Your friendship with that boy will do him no good,” Igor said.

We do know we’ll kill him one day, right? One of Seth’s minds asked casually. It might not be today, but definitely one day.

Another answered in the same tone. We do.

Seth did not want to ponder on the brief exchange. Though he had a response of his own for Igor that was equally disrespectful but not along the lines of his minds, he held his tongue. He was already in too much trouble as it was.

Also, he didn’t know how he felt knowing he personally didn’t want to kill anyone while his minds were proving that they were more than eager to.