Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

Thoughts about Irmina made his gaze drift to Alys Valdeen in time to catch her soft eyes regarding him. Her hair shone in as deep an orange as a brilliant sunset. Her eyes glittered, and she sniffed, turning away from his gaze.

“Thinking about Irmina again?” Mirza’s voice broke Ancel from his thoughts.

Ancel glanced around at his friend and saw Teacher Calestis had dismissed the class. Students headed to the doors, laughing and chatting amongst themselves, most happy to see the end of another day of learning.

“Something like that,” Ancel finally replied. “I wonder what she’s doing now. Did she complete her training? Did she pass the test? If she would at least write-”

“You would go running off to wherever she is,” Mirza quipped. “Or try to. Even if she was somewhere across the sea in Ostania.”

Ancel shrugged and stood.

“You know, you piss me off sometimes.” Mirza shook his head, his unkempt hair, the color of dirty red bricks, spilling about his shoulders. “I mean, you’ve been blessed to be with two of the prettiest girls in all Eldanhill and you moon over Irmina. The girl was as rough as any soldier. Me? I prefer them soft and supple like Alys.” Mirza’s gaze followed the girl who was now just leaving with a few friends.

Ancel’s lips twitched. “And here I was thinking you had no preference at all. We both know even one of the old apothecaries or retired Shin like Teacher Calestis would please you, wrinkles, warts, and all.”

Mirza stared at him, aghast. “I know Irmina addled your brains, but I didn’t think you lost all your senses. Here, let me run call Alys for you, maybe she can make you feel better some.” He made to run after the girls.

Ancel snatched at the arm of Mirza’s beige coat. “Don’t you dare.”

Mirza grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

They were the last to leave the building used as the Mystera’s main study hall. Bright afternoon sunlight greeted them accompanied by a breeze from the snow-capped Kelvore Mountains. The mountain range stretched as far as the eye could see to the north in this part of Granadia. No sooner had they stepped outside when ham-sized hands snatched Mirza at the door and twirled him as if he was a dancer at a ball. A body built like a draught horse, deep and broad of chest with legs that could be two of Ancel’s came into sight as Mirza tottered away in the opposite direction. Ancel burst out laughing.

“I hope you’re ready to spin the girls and dangle them on your knees.” Danvir Bemelle slapped his big hand on his thigh as Mirza stumbled to a stop. “We’re leaving this evening to deliver the kinai wine.”

“What?” Ancel’s eyebrows rose and his lips curved into a smile.

“Yes, my Da convinced yours he should let you go. He said it was best for your nineteenth naming day not to coddle you anymore.” Danvir tilted his head as he regarded Ancel with eyes of burnished copper, the one feature that might make a person overlook his bulbous nose. “Although, I’m not so sure. You still behave as if you’re pining away to me.”

“Wooo,” Mirza said, finally regaining his breath. “Taverns, wine, women, and song.” He rubbed his hands together. “Here we come. Oh, and yes, he’s still mooning over Irmina. As usual, he was lost in class.”

Danvir grunted, and rubbed at his oversized ears. “Did the old bag clip him on the head again?” He straightened his coat back into position, running his hands down the sleeves and nodded with satisfaction.

“You know it.” Mirza chuckled. “Then somehow he managed to answer a question about Nerian the Shadowbearer without missing a beat.”

Danvir let out an exasperated breath while combing his well-oiled, blond hair back until it fell neatly at his shoulders. “That nonsense again? I still don’t understand why we need to study history anyways. What does it all have to do with becoming a Matus.”

“Well,” Mirza began, “you know what Calestis always says-”

The three youths looked at each other and grinned. “Becoming a Matus is not just about touching the elements of Mater that reside in the world around us,” they recited in their best all-knowing imitations of their Teacher. “Becoming a Matus is to learn from the Ashishin before us who have wielded Mater unto their own demise like the Skadwaz. After all, Mater is more than just the elemental force that resides in everything and drives our world. It drives all worlds. Just as present action dictates our future, so does history dictate our present.” They all burst into laughter afterward, Mirza’s gaunt face going red, and Danvir’s guffaws making a rumble in his broad chest. Tears streamed from Ancel’s eyes.

“At least the seats you took up in my class have not been a total waste of space.”

Ancel jumped at Teacher Calestis’s voice, his laughter coming to an abrupt end. His two friends gave the bent old woman wide-eyed stares. Calestis drew herself up straight, her golden eyes stern, and tapped her staff on the cobbles. The youths all began stumbling over themselves with apologies.

“Nonsense,” Teacher Calestis said, waving a dismissive hand, “I do tend to ramble on, but you three have remembered an important piece of your training. So, I will let you have your moment.” They all breathed easier. “However,” she continued, “Should I have any issues from you in class at any time, your parents will be informed about you making fun of the Teachers. A disrespect well worthy of a chore penance I’m sure. Now off with you.”

Given a reprieve, they didn’t wait to have it withdrawn. They scampered away, heads held down.

Ancel glanced over his shoulder once to see Calestis shambling off in the opposite direction. He was tempted to run after her and tell her about the creatures and what he suspected. Coming to a swift decision, he turned. Before he could take a step, a hand grabbed his arm. He looked around to see Mirza.

Mirza shook his head. Ancel had wondered how his friend could act all day as if nothing happened. Now he saw the truth. Mirza’s slate-colored eyes bore the same concern as his, but somehow he did a better job of hiding it. Ancel nodded, and they followed Danvir who was in the process of righting his clothes again after the short run.

They travelled along Learner’s Row, and its multitude of buildings, practice areas, and side streets packed tightly together where Teachers held classes and lectures for a variety of arts. The dense gathering of structures often made the Mystera appear to be a miniature village within Eldanhill. Ancel often wondered if the other Mysteras in other towns and cities were similarly built.

Weaponmasters, bearing the Lightstorm insignia on their breast, drilled soldiers in enclosed spaces between the buildings, each practice area large enough to hold two hundred men. In other sections, Teachers practiced Materforgings with students, teaching them how to grasp the essences and direct earth, fire or light in various applications from lighting a torch to opening a pit in the ground. Yet others taught more mundane tasks like cooking to more advanced like apothecary and alchemy.

The students walking ahead through the Mystera were mostly dressed in earthy yellow or beige uniforms, the men in tunics and pants, and the women in dresses that stopped below the knees. Among them soldiers stood with their chests puffed out in their deep blue garb, golden shield and sword pins shiny upon their breasts. Ancel’s eyes shone with admiration as he watched them strut among the students. The Teachers kept to the other side of the Row, most striding with a purposeful gait in their pristine white robes.

Ancel noted the vast majority of students still bore the book and pen insignia stitched or pinned onto their breast or shoulder denoting them as novices. Remembering when he once displayed the same, he smiled and fingered the silver sword on his lapel, puffing himself up with thoughts of his promotion to trainee. With the memory, a longing for Irmina flashed through his mind. He touched his breast pocket.