(TLO) Chapter 57: Origins (Patreon)

The swaying carriage had often caused motion sickness in a few of the children to ever mount it, but the children in it today seemed unbothered by it. While this was not an achievement, it showed favorable signs.

Somto watched the children as Eni and Otun pulled the carriage ahead. Through the bond he had with them, he could feel their dissatisfaction at having to go a long distance today. He would’ve apologized to them if he thought it would make any difference. Luckily, they had the intelligence of pet dogs, which meant they would get over it soon enough. Still, he didn’t enjoy how much both of them tried to smother his emotions with their own.

He cast them from his mind as he returned his attention to the children Igor had brought.

Besides the obvious oddity of the boy sitting with three katanas in his lap, the rest seemed quite put together. There was one with short hair, cut horribly as was to be expected of one who had had a hunting knife used on it, his skin was lightly tanned and he had a scowl constantly marring his face. This child whose name he did not know had brought a poleax for this test. Somto had had to fight the urge to inform the boy of the stupidity of it. It was winter and they were going to the jungle. The chill of the air was already enough to seep into both muscle and bone in an unsouled, stiffening movement, yet, the child had opted to carry a heavy poleax. Not to add he would be hunting in a jungle with confusing spaces. One moment he would be swinging it with efficiency and the next would find him without enough space for a half decent swing. Perhaps the child took it to look cool. Either that, or the child hadn’t really thought this through.

The largest child in the bunch had stood taller than Igor by a good margin. Somto put him somewhere well over six feet—likely halfway to seven—which was inhumanely tall for a child of sixteen. This child carried a sword and a hunting knife. Along with them was a bow he hung over his shoulder. He carried himself with a demeanor found mostly in those of the military, like Oscar, and kept his mouth sealed. Though it was obvious which of the children he answered to.

Igor’s attention moved to the boy who commanded the mountain of a man as they moved. This one had hair of medium length a dark blonde that seemed to darken at the roots. Somto did not believe the blonde fake, considering there would be no place to hide any dye in the seminary. This one carried the same thing the mountain of a boy did, and he began wondering if the huge boy had simply been emulating this one. Perhaps he’ll switch to a great sword if he survives this.

His attention skipped the child with the three swords to rest on the second largest child in the group. The child carried nothing but a hunting knife he hooked at his waist on his left. He had complexion a greatly lighter shade than Somto but nearly similar, and his black hair seemed like something that didn’t like to grow, resting two inches tall on his head. Besides the boy’s size, what made him stand out to Somto was how closely he was huddled against the smallish boy with the three blades beside him. It reminded Somto of a time before he’d met the seminary, of how he’d used to huddle so close to his older brother for protection. It was strange seeing as the boy was meant to be the one giving the protection.

The rest were without anything worth noting. He did note the child that had called him a peasant but ignored him. He was likely from somewhere in the east. One of the lands occupied by a mix of Asians and Americans since the world crack, where racism and slavery continued growing.

“What I don’t understand,” he said, finally, turning to Igor, “is why the seminary has taken a child not up to sixteen for this test. Isn’t that still one of the requirements for it?”

Igor did not turn to him when he answered, he simply continued watching the world pass them by through his window. “He’s sixteen.”

Somto’s lips pursed in confusion. He returned his attention to the smallish boy. Igor expected him to believe the child was sixteen? He looked barely fourteen. Another thing that worried him was the boy’s constant facial expressions. The constant suppressed facial twitches. There was one of annoyance, then disdain, then frustration. He’d caught the boy smiling at nothing once. And then there was the quivering of the lips as if trying not to speak.

“I wouldn’t advise that,” the boy muttered suddenly, then frowned.

Somto’s brows furrowed in confusion. He opened his mouth to ask the boy why not when Igor cut him off.

“Ignore him.”

Somto turned to his brother. “Why?”

“Because he’s not talking to you.”

He returned his attention to the boy and noted he wasn’t watching him. His brows furrowed, realization slowly dawning on him. “That doesn’t make sense. Is the seminary taking in the mentally challenged, too?”

“I don’t know,” Igor sighed. “I heard the Rector endorsed him. So he’s here.”

“And what poor sap of an Evangelist brought him?”

“None.”

Somto paused. “You’ve lost me.”

“That’s how I felt when John told me, too.” Igor sighed again, then he adjusted on his seat and closed his eyes as if in slumber. “Anthony found him lying in the mist. Unconscious.”

“That’s disturbing.”

“It is. And the mist was avoiding him, or at least where he was lying down. It still is.”

Somto returned his attention to the boy once more and his confusion deepened. There was no doubt the children were hearing them. They weren’t trying to speak quietly, after all. The boys most likely considered this good gossip.

Unwilling to make it seem like he had spilled the young boy’s secrets just for the fun of it, he asked Igor, “What of the big guy?”

Igor cracked an eye open in question.

Somto gestured with his head. “That one.”

“Fin?” Igor shrugged then closed his eye back. “He’s from some part of old America. Father was an unsouled farmer when we found him. Sold him off for a chance at a soul fragment.”

Somto’s lips rounded in mild embarrassment for the boy. “Did we ever find out what happened to the dad after that?”

Igor’s eye opened again, but this time he looked at Fin as he spoke, as if talking to him. “The man absorbed the fragment, abandoned his family, and got himself killed in one of the nests. He did nothing noteworthy with it, didn’t even get to join the government, or the adventure society.”

“He could’ve just sworn allegiance to a Baron somewhere, though. It's what everyone does if they don't want the government or the adventure society.”

“My guess?” Igor closed his eyes. “He was either too ambitious or too stupid to.”

“And the rest?”

“The one Fin answers to is from the North, old Canada. Nothing much from him. His name is Jason, and his family’s almost royalty over there. He’s the second and his older brother wanted us to have him.” He gestured with his head at another boy. “That’s Josiah, Jacob took him from one of the cults.”

“Which one?”

Igor frowned. “I think it was one of the Christian ones. What’s left of them, anyway. Said the boy begged him to take him. He doesn’t talk much. Half the time I forget he’s even there. Personally, I don’t think he’ll make it. Salem over there is from South Africa. Father is unknown, Mother’s some whore from somewhere. He got a tough childhood is all I’m willing to say of it.” He nodded at another child, the boy was large, but nothing worth noting in the presence of his two larger brothers. “Bartholomew was sold as a child slave and we bought him, so he technically belongs to us. The one with the big mouth that says nonsense is Forlorn, useless child of some Noble in Russia—”

“He doesn’t look Russian.”

“—not worth a dime to any of us,” Igor continued, without missing a beat. “Don’t know why he doesn’t look Russian, don’t care. I guess its cause he’s mother’s some concubine or the other. He really had no standing there. His mom gave him away because he simply didn’t live up to his father’s expectation.” He opened his eyes just so he could stare the boy down and meet his angry glare. “He wouldn’t have lasted any longer there if we hadn’t taken him. I guess some Evangelists just want to save people even without talent or anything deserving of being saved. Hopefully, he doesn’t make it back from this, too.”

Igor frowned as he turned his attention to the boy with hair the color of wheat. "Barnabas is an unfortunate one. In the simplest of words, he's the enemy of an entire government."

"Oh," Somto found that surprising. "Which one?"

"None you'll know. They aren't really a government; more like a large scale neighborhood watch. He did something he shouldn't have for a really stupid reason, so he can only go back home if he wants to die. Chances are he'll never be forgiven. He has a confusing talent with the sword so I guess that's a plus for us."

In front of them Barnabas looked down, visibly cowed. All the brothers had displayed visible reactions to Igor's revelations of their origins but his was the strongest... and the most intimidated. It made Somto wonder just how bad his sin was for an entire community to hate him.

Somto bumped Igor’s knee as he closed his eyes again. “You missed one,” he said.

Igor didn’t bother opening his eyes. “I know.”

The answer was abrupt enough for Somto to hear what was implied: We do not talk about the fat boy huddled so close to the mentally challenged one.

That Igor chose to speak nothing of the boy meant one of two things: He knew nothing of the boy or the boy was one of the seminary’s deep secrets.

Whatever it was, it was likely unimportant right now. So he rested back, closed his eyes, and cast his mind to the beasts pulling the carriage. Gently, his mind drifted off to more important things; things that concerned the place he was taking the children to.

He wondered how many of them the enigmatic tribe of the Javalti would approach this year, considering they approached the children every year they brought them here, and what consequences would come with it. After all, investigations had shown they were the reason the seminary had lost so many last year.

A mistake unintended, their chief had called it while offering his sincerest apologies when they’d brought their anger to his village. A mistake that had taken too many lives, he scoffed. I wonder if there’ll be another mistake this year.

For a tribe that had so blatantly turned its back on the world during the chaos of the first world crack, they had quite the disrespectful level of audacity to still be confidently existing. And to continue claiming ownership of the lands the seminary allowed them occupy when they had done nothing to deserve it except having been born on it showed their disgusting level of shamelessness.

He didn't hold their continued occupancy of the land against them, seeing as they had nowhere to go. But their continued insistence to stay because it was once their land and would continue to be was what irked him. If he was ever the Rector, they would leave the land or fertilize it with their own blood. That was how grand their betrayal of humanity was.

That was the punishment they deserved.

Somto grit his teeth at his growing anger, his thoughts fanning the flames constantly. Gently, with the active notion of smothering a grown man, he beat down his thoughts. His anger for the tribe would do nothing good now. He had other tasks to attend. Tasks that needed a clear head to deal with.

As was the case every year, he pitied whatever seminarian ran into any of them during this test. Worse was any who believed their words.