Firian Rising

4. Firian

4

Firian

He had passed the test.

With a satisfied sigh Firian sat down on the edge of the lower bunk. No one was there to take the top one, but he decided that if anyone did come, he would rather have the bottom. He had more privacy down there and could get in and out without disturbing anyone.

He had passed the test and didn’t even know how he had done it.

His mouth broke open in a smile and he jumped up, screaming. “Ha, ha!” he screamed, not caring who heard. “I’m free! I passed! Ha!” He fell back on the bed laughing and panting. He was going to be a Tanyu. A Tanyuin warrior. He took on the expression a fully trained Tanyu would have—utmost seriousness, of course—and attacked his pillow expertly.

The door opened.

“I’m sure it’s not the pillow’s fault,” said a man Firian hadn’t seen before.

He stopped beating it and stood.

“This is your room,” said the new man to someone Firian couldn’t see. Then from behind him came a boy who looked about his age, except that he was smaller and looked weaker. His strength wasn’t in his muscles but in the energy gleaming bright from his large black eyes. His hair spiked wildly. The boy’s eyebrows twitched down when he saw Firian standing there, but his curiosity gave way to a grin.

“I’ll send for your things,” the man said, closing them into the room.

A second of silence, then, “I’m Bard. Who are you?”

“Firian.”

“How long have you been here?”

“I just got here. I passed the test,” he added proudly.

“I did too… barely,” said Bard, craning his head to look around the room. “Where are you from?”

“Raewhith.” Bard’s skin was a little darker than his and his features were smaller. And he spoke with a lilting accent. He certainly had never seen eyes like his back home.

“I’m from Enderin. You’re lucky to have the Academy so close to your house.”

Firian had no idea that people came from so far away. It had just never crossed his mind. Enderin was as far north as the capital city Brithnem was south. The Academy wanted the best, after all, and that meant from anywhere in the world, even Enderin. Tanyu weren’t just connected to the Western Kingdom, but had all the world’s best.

“So which bed is mine?” Bard asked.

“The top one. What do you mean you barely passed the test? They said I passed but they didn’t even test me.”

Bard was already trying to scramble up to his bunk. “They didn’t even test you? They just let you in without all that mind stuff?”

“Mind stuff? I guess. They said the ‘tests can break your mind,’ but then they just took me here and said I passed.”

“Weird.”

“I thought the test was maybe seeing how I would react when they said I probably wouldn’t get in, but that doesn’t make any sense. What’d they do to you?”

Dragging himself noisily to the top, Bard reached his bed and sat down on the edge with his feet dangling. “They told me to close my eyes and think of different things. They said I wasn’t thinking hard enough. Then they told me to stop thinking.”

The Tanyu hadn’t made Firian do any of those things. It didn’t make sense. “Stop thinking? What do you mean? How do you do that?”

“Think of nothing. That part was easy.”

Firian had never tried to think of nothing. His vivid imagination would always take over and sometimes he would have visions even in the daytime. Nothing… nothing… It wasn’t black and it wasn’t white. It was clear and there was nothing on the other side. It covered him and he ceased to exist…

“Firian!”

“Hmm. What’d you say?” The fuzz of nothing cleared and he saw Bard staring at him from his perch.

“You’re not paying attention.”

“Yes, I was.”

“What did I just say?”

“You’re not paying attention.”

Bard swatted at him but Firian ducked and grabbed a dangling leg. Shrieking, Bard held onto the mattress as Firian tried to pull him off. The mattress lifted and bent upward as Firian dragged him from the bed, laughing and screaming. Bard fell sprawling on top of him.

“We’re Tanyu!” Bard yelled, springing up again. He kicked Firian in the side as he attempted to get up again. “We’re Tanyu!”

Firian thought his face would split with happiness.

It took Firian far too long to find Mr. Belik’s room. He hated that he was late for his first lesson. When he finally found the right place, he knocked. Silence. He knocked again, harder this time.

“Not so loud, boy!” cried a voice. Firian’s fist froze in the air, mid-knock. “Just come in.”

He cracked open the door. The room was dim and tiny. A man—the only person in the room—sat in one of two chairs. Large and imposing, he looked too big for the room, as if he were caged. A hint of softness gleamed behind his intense eyes, but Firian knew better than to appeal to it. No man had ever shown him unearned kindness. So he would earn it.

Mr. Belik glanced at a piece of paper he held in his lap. “You are Firian Kess,” he said deliberately, peering over his glasses as he waved for him to sit.

“Yes, I am,” Firian said, sitting in the other chair.

“Very good. I hear you have some ability.”

“I hope so, sir.”

“You will call me Master Belik if you call me anything at all.”

“Yes, s— I will.” He hoped his habit of respect would die easily. He suspected it would.

“It says here you’re eleven years old.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why do you talk like that?”

“Like what, si… Master Belik?”

“Like that.”

“My father, sir.” He clamped his teeth shut when the word escaped.

Belik smiled grimly and looked at the paper again. “Do you know what we do here, Firian?”

He had an idea, but figured that it would be better not to answer.

“We fight here, boy. We don’t curtsy. So cut out the nice stuff. Your dad won’t be here to tell you to shut up from now on. Now I tell you when to shut up. Got that?”

Firian nodded, pleased.

Belik dropped his paper on the floor beside him. “Close your eyes,” he commanded.

Firian shut them tight.

“Pretend you are in your old house, in your old room…”

Firian instantly pictured the old board house nestled uncomfortably in the trees as if it wanted to shy away from the road. Then he stood in his little room, with the low bed pressed against the far wall, under the window. Grayish-yellow plaster above the paneling emphasized the dusty light coming in. Maybe that was one of the reasons his parents never thought it was clean enough, even if everything was put away…

“Now you are in the outpost with your parents…”

He saw it all again, as if he were reliving it.

“Now you’re back in your room.”

He was.

“Now in the outpost.”

He was.

Belik’s voice took a less commanding tone. “Your father is tall and thin, with short brown hair and a mustache, your mother is a hand shorter, with medium-length brown hair and blue eyes, just like yours, and there is a window above the bed in your room.”

Firian opened his eyes. “How did you know that?” he whispered. Could everyone in this place read his mind? In his sudden fear, he instinctively thought of the worst thing he knew, then flushed hot as Belik laughed.

“I could see almost everything,” said Belik. “Do you know how?”

“No.”

“You have an imagination. I have an imagination. I just have to imagine that I see what you’re imagining, see?”

Firian thought about it for a moment. “Not really, Master Belik.”

“Close your eyes again. You’ll see what I mean.”

His lids lowered.

“Now, clear your thoughts and our minds can meet halfway in the Unreal.”

He tried to empty his mind and figure out what the Master was thinking at the same time. It wasn’t easy, but slowly he saw the trade school and his teachers there moving around and telling him to pay more attention.

“Explain,” Belik demanded.

“What?” His eyes popped open, his stomach churning uncomfortably.

“What did you see?”

“My… trade school teachers.”

Belik leaned forward with a sardonic look on his face. “Why would I think about them?”

“Maybe to show me the differences between you and them?”

“I don’t even know your trade school teachers. I was thinking of something completely different.” He paused. “When did you arrive here?” He asked the question as though he already knew the answer.

“Just yesterday.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding. “And they just let you in?”

Firian’s throat constricted.

Belik narrowed his eyes. “The Head was there for your test, wasn’t he? He doesn’t bother with new recruits unless he has a reason. He went because he knew you had the Talent before you arrived. That’s why you passed. So come on,” he said, clapping his dry hands together, “try again. What am I picturing? It’s just a picture so it won’t be hard for you.”

Again in darkness, Firian’s heart pounded. Nothing came to him. He still had no idea what Belik was thinking. How could they all expect him to read minds on the first day? It wasn’t as if he’d been practicing. He hadn’t known it was possible until now.

Then something Bard had said came back to him. Nothing. Think of nothing.

Nothing… nothing…

Then… something! Just one image, unmoving, unwavering, came slowly into view in the clear mirror. It was a person, a woman that he’d never seen before. The image was so detailed that she could have been standing in front of him.

“What does she look like?” Belik’s voice echoed.

“She has dark skin and big eyes,” he answered, without opening his eyes, “some kind of ring in her nose, and short, reddish-brown hair and… she’s wearing a green dress.”

“Shoes?”

“Shoes are yellow.”

“There you have it!” Belik shouted so loudly it made Firian jump. “Look at me.”

He looked up and the image lingered a little before his mind before flickering out completely.

Belik seemed pleased. “That’s Chetana.”

“Who’s she?”

“That doesn’t matter. Do you understand now? Do you understand?” His large, rough hands twitched with anticipation.

Firian swallowed. For a moment, he’d really done it. “I think so.”

“Could you do it again?”

Firian nodded vigorously and beamed with pride.

“Well then, do it. Now!”

For hours, they practiced techniques for meeting in the Unreal until Firian was sure it must be well past lunchtime.

Before Belik let him go, he told Firian the rest of his class schedule, which all sounded more interesting than anything he had learned at trade school.

After a quick meal, Strategy was next.

It took a moment for Firian’s eyes to adjust to the darkness. Six students sat on chairs and a Master sat facing them, her hair slicked back in a braid and her eyes calmly closed. Firian silently moved toward the one empty seat.

No one shifted or made a noise. They almost seemed asleep. He wouldn’t mind a class like that at all… But they couldn’t be sleeping.

An energy buzzed under the surface of the room. All the students were sharing one thought. He dove in, drenching himself in nothing as he had done over and over with Master Belik.

A bright moving picture materialized. Two men, one dressed in red and the other in white, stood in a square, black room with gleaming sides. Their slick, colored images reflected in the floor.

“Success depends on creativity, on calmness in whatever situation,” he heard a woman’s voice say. “None of the battlegrounds should be so simple, but your lesson begins here. There are two men, endless possibilities. Most of the battles you will be engaged in—if you make it—will be between you and one other person. So we begin Strategy here.”

Long, thin swords appeared in the hands of each man. “In the Unreal, you have everything, and nothing. Thought is your only restraint. Any weapon you can devise, any way you want to move, is possible if you have mastery. Mastery is key. Strength of mind.”

The men ran at each other, blades raised, whirling their swords expertly at each other, and clashed. The weapons gleamed deep white in the sheen of the floor.

“This is one method,” said the female voice, as the fight continued before Firian’s mind. “But this is too simple. If your opponent has any skill at all, you must use more advanced tactics.”

All of a sudden, the red and white men left the ground and slid on a film of air like ice, gaining height as they fought harder. Someone gasped—a sound heard from underwater. Soon the two were flying through the air, rotating in every direction as though no one way could pull them down.

“Typical,” the voice said. “Most warriors are advanced enough to fly. The next step is to change weapons, like this.”

The red man’s sword dissolved into smoke and a spear appeared in its place. The white man kept his sword, but gained a knife. The fight moved faster, faster. Firian gaped as he watched. If the fight got too close, could it hurt him? He flexed, steeling himself, and focused on the complicated moves. Tonight, he would try to remember every last step in detail.

Then everything went blank.

“That’s enough for today. Remember all that for tomorrow.”

Firian opened his eyes and peered cautiously around. The room seemed brighter now.

During the rest of the lesson, the Master (he hadn’t caught her name) spoke and drew diagrams of strategies that worked or didn’t work and why. Her long, thick braid swung with each measured movement. The Unreal fight was much easier to remember than the diagrams.

When the class ended, Firian followed everyone out the door.

One day down…

He found his way back to his upstairs room, hoping he could find more food.

No one was there, not even Bard. But on the lower bunk was a small, bulging knapsack. He worked open the leather strap at the top and found his winter boots from home. The Tanyu must have sent for his belongings immediately for them to arrive so quickly. Not even a day had passed since he arrived.

He pulled out the items one by one and laid them on the bed. A note or gesture of good-bye from his parents was not among the items he received. He didn’t really expect one. But there was a scrap of paper from Brett. Congratulations, it said. I knew you could do it! 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.

He wouldn’t forget Brett either. Based on what Master Makai had said at the watchtower, it was unlikely that his family could come often. And she is the only one who would want to.

With a sewing needle, he tacked the paper to the wooden bedpost beside the bottom bunk pillow.

He put away all his other clothes and belongings quickly. Since he didn’t own very much, he noticed that a couple items of clothing were missing, but he wasn’t going to ask about them. Maybe the Academy would provide him with clothes.

When he was finished, he threw himself down on the bunk and began to pick at the bedpost, tossing the flakes away with his fingernail.

The door swung heavily on its hinges and Bard stepped in, looking very small, followed by a stream of yellow-white light. He shut the door behind him and opened a dresser drawer, bringing out two oranges and a small loaf of brown bread. Though he looked tired, he smiled. “Hungry?”

“Yeah!” Firian hopped off the bed.

“A last gift from my parents,” he said, handing him an orange and breaking off a hunk of bread.

Firian didn’t feel like responding to that, so he peeled the orange instead. Mist spritzed from the peel as he ripped it off.

After a while, Bard finally said, “Is there anything else planned for today?”

“I don’t think so,” Firian replied with his mouth full of orange slices.

“Then I’m going to bed,” said Bard. At that, he undressed and climbed up into his bunk.

Firian didn’t feel tired, so he just sat at the edge of his mattress, chewing thoughtfully, reviewing all that he had learned in his mind. He reviewed his lessons in the dark. He didn’t intend to take thirteen years to learn how to fight. Already, the Tanyuin Head himself had let him in, and he’d gotten a Master’s approval on the first day. Once he believed he could remember every detail of Belik’s teaching and the Strategy lessons, he blew out the light and lay down.

The only light in the room came from the moon and stars peering in the small window. Bard softly started to cry. The sound was painful and left Firian at a loss. He angled up on his elbow, wanting to comfort Bard but not having the slightest idea where to begin. Bard probably just missed home—something Firian couldn’t fully understand. Maybe it was better to give him his privacy.

He settled himself back down. Drowsiness overtook him and he fell slowly asleep to the sound of Bard sniffing and quietly choking on sobs.