Into the Unreal

3. Firian

3

Firian

Blood coated Firian’s knuckles as he pounded the mattress leaning against a tree. He needed something to beat, some way to release the aggression welling up like oil under his skin. The mattress would do. At least he wouldn’t break his hands.

Today, the Unreal wasn’t enough.

His family was coming today.

The scouts wouldn’t arrive in Brithnem for a few days. Though there was plenty to occupy his time, this visit was the most urgent. Some of the older Masters grated against his authority, but he could deal with them after he confronted the monster lurking in his past. After that, he would rid himself of fear and put them all in their place.

Now, though, memories filled him like a disease. His father storming in, coiled as a wire. The sight of him made Firian taste salt in his mouth and scan the objects in the room so he’d know what he might have to prepare himself to face. The fury in those eyes looking for an outlet for his rage.

His sister Brett always sensed the danger immediately too. She touched Firian’s upper arm for him to back up, his little body shadowed behind hers. He stumbled back a step, wincing at the fumbling sound it made.

His mother leaned back, placing one palm on the table as Father approached. She looked empty, fragile, like a doll. Firian’s throat constricted until he was fighting to breathe. Mother had no power to fight, either for herself or for them.

Father sneered and violently grabbed her wrist. “Don’t act like you’re afraid of me, Lithia,” he spat, flinging her away. “God, it’s no wonder your son is such a coward.”

Though Father didn’t look at him, Firian tensed at every movement. He burned with shame at how thankful he was to have Brett standing in front of him. Father never hit Brett.

His mother, shaking, didn’t respond.

“Did you hear what I said?” Father snarled, bending to stare Mother in the eye. The motion made Mother seem like a little girl. “Or are you stupid?”

Mother dropped her eyes, shuffling her feet, maybe to start doing something else. The whole room began to smell sharp and sour. When Firian was very small, he had thought the smell came from the forge, maybe the coke burning, or the panes of glass before they were cool. He learned better eventually.

“Gore!” Father swore. “Look at me, Lithia! Look at me, you idiotic woman!” He squeezed her chin in his hand so hard it distorted her face.

Something touched Firian’s arm. He jumped. Brett again. He pressed her hand lightly enough that Father wouldn’t see the movement.

“I have to put up with this after working all day? I don’t know why I bother to feed you.”

“I’m sorry, Yanon,” she whimpered.

He struck her across the face. “You know why? It’s because nobody would buy you even if you offered.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Oh, are you?” He came at her like a man possessed.

Firian knew this part. He shut his eyes tight, trying not to listen, but every attempt just amplified the sounds. The half-strangled screams ripped through his little body. Every muffled thump bruised him in dark, dark places…

Firian swiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, willing the memory away, but it was like sound. Trying not to notice just pushed it into sharper relief. Growling, he swung and hit, over and over, leaning into the pain, into the anger that fueled him. Anger, not fear. His knuckles ached and stung as they made contact.

The mattress ripped. Straw stuck out of the holes at crazy angles, slicing Firian’s hands. He pulled back and grunted with another hard swing. The punch made the mattress wobble and almost fall.

He swung lower, jabbing upward, bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet. A red smear appeared where his fists had touched, as though there had been a murder.

“So that’s where it went.”

Firian twisted violently around. Bard. He’d stolen the bottom bunk mattress from Bard’s room. Only Bard’s room, now that he had moved into the bedroom attached to the Head’s office. He didn’t answer.

“When are they coming?” Bard asked softly.

Firian bit back a curse. Bard always knew. He glanced at the sun, rubbing his hands on his pants. “Now.”

Bard turned around, preparing to walk back to the Academy with him. He preserved a wise silence for a moment before asking, “What are you going to do?”

Firian pursed his mouth and ran his sleeve across his face. What a time for Bard to talk to him! They hadn’t interacted much at all since Firian had killed Sias Jairon. Maybe even before, when Firian had tracked down some of the Sentries they’d freed together.

He still didn’t know what he was going to do with his family. He wanted to make his father pay. It would be the first time Firian saw his father since he’d taken the entrance test when he was eleven. The pit of his stomach tightened again.

Still breathing hard from boxing the mattress, he answered, “I don’t know.”

“You’re not going to…?”

“I don’t know.”

The breeze blew the shirt-sweat cold.

“You got what you wanted,” Bard said. “There’s no need to hurt them.”

Firian lifted his chin. He’d played versions of this meeting in his head for years, but now that the moment had come, he wasn’t sure what he would do.

“Fir?”

He gave Bard a pointed look. He would decide when his family stood in front of him. Should he invite them into his office? It wasn’t very grand. That was just Firian’s style, but at this moment, he wished it were covered in tapestries and heraldry and trophies from the defeated. At least he would wear his crown. He had brought it with him, tied to one of the straps of his black coat. Reaching back, he unknotted it. The hard metal felt cold against his forehead. Who was worthless now?

“You don’t want regrets, yeah? Firian, I’m serious.”

“I know you are. You’re always serious.” Releasing his thoughts even that much started to relax his tense muscles as well. He resettled the crown into a more comfortable position. Maybe he shouldn’t hurt him, but only threaten…

Maybe they were already here.

His throat started to close. Damn it, you’re the Tanyuin Head! They’ll do anything you say.

Bard looked up at him solemnly, black hair wild. “I’ll be just outside.”

Firian started to protest, but stopped. If Bard were outside, he might find the self-control not to order his father’s death. Brett and his mother would probably be horrified if he killed his father, even though the scut deserved it. They didn’t need to see that side of him.

A warm droplet leaked down his finger, pooled on his fingertip, and dropped into the pine needles.

“Okay.”

A black figure strode from the Academy toward them, darker than the fortress’s dark walls. As he got closer, his features materialized into Ryker, a Learner, about fourteen. More white than usual ringed his brown eyes as he approached Firian. He softened toward the boy. “Master Kess,” he said, “your visitors have arrived. They’re just outside your office.”

Even though he’d been expecting the message, his insides leapt. He nodded, his face uncomfortably hot. “Tell them I’m coming.”

“As you would have it, Master Kess.”

Ryker ran back to the Academy to deliver the message, and the two of them hiked back at a greater speed. Firian fought the urge to run the rest of the way.

Within minutes they had breached the enormous wooden doors and swept through the fountain courtyard with its chandelier. Learners made way for them.

Firian’s pulse beat in his throat as they turned down the hallway to the Head’s office. His office.

And there they were. Belik and the door guard flanked the three of them, who all looked soft by comparison. His father’s brown hair had grown peppery gray, his thin frame more like human gristle than muscle. His arms were so narrow. Those eyes, those accusing eyes, were exactly the same. They widened only a fraction to see Firian, grown and strong and crowned, coming toward them.

He remembered his mother from the trip to Raewhith with Kiria. Now, though still washed out, she was dressed in her best. The faded yellow dress hung limply on her body.

And then there was Brett. Her baby hadn’t come with her. He had almost forgotten his sister was coming. Despite all the anticipation for his father’s arrival, she was the one who caught and held his eye. She stood sturdy and vibrant compared to the others. The long, glossy hair he remembered was tied back in a braid. Her lined eyes regarded him with an unreadable expression. She could have been proud or wary or glad or condemning. He tried to find the words there that he’d tacked to his bedpost and then fastened to the Sacred Scroll. Now you’ll be a warrior—a Tanyu—one of the bravest and smartest people in the world! I love you. I won’t forget you. The memory of them made him swell with pride. Brett had believed in him when no one else did. And now he was the Tanyuin Head. He lifted his mouth in a half smile for her.

Though her ambiguous expression didn’t change, her eyes twinkled back.

Feeling bolstered, he turned to his father. “Come in,” he said, his tone turning cold as he passed them to enter his office.

His father shifted. “Firian—”

“Shut up!”

His mother jumped at the ferocity of his comeback. Firian almost did too. He was a dam about to break.

He would deal with the others later. His blood coursed hot as his father’s eyes strayed to his knuckles. Remembering the time Father had struck him for coming home from school with bloody knuckles, Firian could barely see through his rage. That had been one day—one day!—before he went to the Academy. The last insult he would suffer from that man. He couldn’t begin civilly. Now, he needed retribution, payment for all the years of torture he and his mother had endured at the hands of this monster.

“Come in,” he repeated more softly, burning with the pain of holding in the fury he felt.

Without a word, his father followed him inside. Both Belik and Bard stayed outside with the rest of his family. With a wave of his hand, Firian ushered in the new armor-clad guard, who closed the door behind them.

Now practically alone, he stepped heavily toward his father. They were the same height now. Snarling, he stopped less than a hand’s-span from his face. All of his practiced speeches disappeared. What were words anyway? They couldn’t make up for what was done, all the sleepless nights, the noises he heard from his mother in the quiet, his life-long fear that his father might have been right about him…

He paused just long enough for his father’s stare to flash up to the open iron square on his forehead. “Get on your knees,” he whispered.

“Firi—”

“On your knees!” Firian roared, stepping back. His chest rose and fell as though he had run for hours. He ground his teeth, staring down the man who had made his entire family feel like nothing.

Steadying himself, he took a deep breath. “I am the Head of the Tanyuin Academy. If I tell my people to kill you, they will. Without hesitation. So get on your knees.”

Hatred radiated from his father as he lowered himself down slowly, tentatively.

Kneeling before him, he looked so small, and Firian hated him more for it. “Now beg my forgiveness.”

“I didn’t do anything to you.”

Heat burst into Firian’s skull and he pulled his hand back only after he realized what he had done. Father’s temple was dark red, and a welt beaded up where Firian’s Master ring had struck him.

He blinked in horror. What had he done? For an irrational moment, he thought his father would retaliate, grow large as he was in his dreams, and beat him.

As Firian had just done to him.

Fresh disgust, this time at himself, flowed through his thoughts. He was a warrior getting justice, someone who’d learned violence as a force for power and respect and doing good. But for a sickening moment, he felt like he was looking in a glass at a distorted image of himself.

I didn’t do anything to you.

He refused to explain all the times his father had called him worthless, had beaten him and his mother, had talked down to him, had not believed in him. He would not itemize his pain. But he would have his revenge.

Collecting himself again, he remembered his purpose. “Beg.”

Silence from the head bent downward.

“Beg or I’ll kill you.” It was still probably true.

His father cleared his throat. “For whatever you think I did…”

“Start over,” he growled.

“I’m sorry.” The words wrung out of him, grating, quiet, forced.

Firian waited.

“I’m sorry for… hurting you in some way.” Even from this angle, his jaw clearly worked with agitation.

Firian cut a grim look at the guard and nodded once. The guard struck his father on the back of the head. The blow made him lean forward and catch himself on his hands.

Firian’s blood beat at the sight. Yes, beg.

“I’m sorry.” Now his voice had more of the right tone. Maybe he thought he was begging for his life. He was. “I’m sorry.”

The picture became disgusting. Repulsed, Firian kicked him lightly on the wrist. “Get up.”

His father did, coming back into himself like a second skin. Here he was again, the demon from his past, his hate-filled eyes rimmed unhealthily with red. His sallow cheeks paled like a fever victim’s.

Firian nodded again to the guard, who opened the door. Firian’s mother stood with her hands to her mouth. Brett glared through the opening, her forehead a mass of tight wrinkles. They must have heard the whole thing. Good. Now they knew this monster could be beaten.

His father didn’t spare them a glance, but his skin flushed pink with the knowledge that they were being watched.

“You can’t hurt me now,” Firian said, “but if I hear that you’ve hurt them, I’ll harm you in ways you’ve never heard of. I’ll torture your dreams, I’ll send Tanyu to fetch your fingers one by one…” He stopped because he was shaking.

Though his father didn’t quail, Firian noticed that he barely breathed as he stared back at his son. Firian would make good on every threat. He felt the complicated looks of all four watchers as he glared at his father: Brett, his mother, Master Belik, Bard.

He willed himself back to calm. His hands stilled. “Get out.”

When his father turned around, Firian knew that was the last time he’d ever see him. And he was glad.

The guard widened the door for him.

As his father stalked out, his mother’s eyes rounded, huge as a doe’s. Fear, not relief or thanks, radiated from her.

A wave of grief, surprising in its strength, assaulted him at the sight of her. As a child, he’d reserved some of his anger for her because she hadn’t stood up for him all those nights when his father came home and struck him and called him a scut and screamed that he never should have been born. But she was a victim too, even more than he was. How had he never seen it? Trapped in that cruel marriage, it was all she could do to be kind to them. She had never been strong enough to protect them. Firian’s eyes felt hot.

He turned to Brett. She stared back, disbelieving, her eyes full of angry shock. The total effect made her look almost like a Tanyu. Despite the accusation in her expression, the sight made him a little proud of her.

“Bring them in.” He wanted to be able to talk to them, reassure them, without Belik and Bard overhearing. The women came in and stood where his father had. When the door closed again, he met Brett’s glare. “He deserved worse.”

“Firian,” Brett began, her blue eyes mirroring his own. A dozen questions died on her lips. “Firian, how could you?” They must have overheard through the door.

“You can stay here if you think he’ll hurt you.”

“We can’t stay here.” She took a tentative step forward. “We can’t live at the Academy. I have a family.”

“Bring them.”

She took a small, exasperated breath. “We can’t.” Her eyes softened, a version of the look he’d been waiting for from her. “I was excited to see you. When we got the letter, it felt like the first one, but this time you wrote it.” She looked down in a sort of disbelief before continuing. “I knew you could do it. Even when kids made fun of you and you weren’t sure, I knew you could do this.” Her voice was soft and earnest, dropping now to a whisper. “But you don’t want to become like him.”

His insides curled as she reflected his own thoughts back to him. “I’m not like him.”

“You have power now, Firian. If you hurt people with it, you shouldn’t have it.” She shook her head.

He forced his twitching fingers not to reach for the crown to readjust it again. “I didn’t hurt him. And even if I’d killed him, he would have deserved worse. You grew up with him. You know the kind of man he is! He’s scum, trash.”

Brett lowered her voice even further. “Firian, he’ll hurt Mother.”

“He already does!” Anger flushed him. Why was she questioning him? Somebody finally put Father in his place, on his knees, begging forgiveness, where he belonged until his miserable life ended.

“No. We’re going back.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Sabir is there.” The baby.

“Bring him too. Live in Tánuil. And if he comes back—”

“Listen to yourself. You can’t make everything better by controlling it. I can protect myself. Gaius can protect me.” The words made a soothing chant, as though she were putting a child to sleep.

Suddenly Firian was eleven again. “I’ll protect you,” he said, a low whisper through barely parted teeth. The purity of the words filled his body with light. There was something whole about it. Maybe this is why he had become the Head in the first place.

A tight smile passed over Brett’s features. “I know you want to.”

The idea struck him suddenly. “I’ll protect Raewhith.” He turned his attention to Belik and Bard in turn. All of them would approve. “It needs us. There’s no city wall.”

She didn’t protest.

“Brett.” Here was something she couldn’t argue against. He took her hand gently in his, and something inside him twisted with emotion. “I promise I’ll look after you and mother. My Tanyu will guard the city and check up on you. I meant all those things I said, so I’ll figure it out.”

She pursed her lips as she listened. “Okay,” she said, his sister again.

He dropped her hand, smiling grimly. “Okay.”