Marc Arden and the Siphilon Academy

- Acanon

Marc reached the periphery of his village after three painful days of traveling, with a foot-long bleeding scratch across his chest. On the last day of his return, the scratch had already aged into a dark brown scar, which Marc hated. He disliked the disfiguring shape that covered his chest but he couldn't do anything about it.

Marc glanced at the sky and noticed the familiar sheen of the rising sun. He then quietly as ever, sprinted to the gates of the village, smiled at the familiar form of the gatekeeper who had orders from the Olden to let him in every time he's back from scouting.

The gatekeeper greeted him with a slight nod and a murmur, "Marc, Arden's son…" He made his way past the various edifices and towards his childhood home, where he knew his father will be awake and awaiting him.

He was passing the billet where the village's peacekeepers rest, when Marc sensed a man striding behind him. He turned and recognized Dom, the seclusive rich businessman. He had grey hair – for a middle-aged man – and thin stubble. As the man sped up his pace to Marc, the latter softly laughed. Dom was the only one in the whole village who dared venture into the Palm, other than Marc, and here he was returning the same day as Marc.

Dom looked older for some reason. Marc knew the graceful, hair tousled, tanned man who approached him, but something looked off. His facial hair was greying too, and his brown eyes were more withdrawn. Dom reached him and they both greeted each other in their formal village-like way.

"Dominic, Rupert's son!".

"Marc, Arden's son! I hope I find you well today?".

Dom peered through the gloomy dawn and sized Marc up. Marc shifted slightly to cover his scar but it still hurt him, and he flinched as it stung at him.

"I'm quite alright sir, and I hope I find you well too?", He replied politely, hoping against hope that Dom hadn't sensed his discomfort. The man is what you'd call extremely observant. Dom seemed amused for some reason and said,

"I'm fine thank you, I keep telling you, if you exercise every day as I do, you'll be fit as me".

Dom paused for the moment to pass then turned more business-like and said,

"Show me the scar on your chest, Marc. Don't pretend it's not there because doing so will have no effect whatsoever on me," Marc cursed in an undertone and grumbled as he removed his shirt, revealing to Dom the ghastly cut with dried blood around it covering half of his chest. Dom scowled as he inspected the wound and said,

"That's a bad cut young man!" That's all? Was Dom going to repeat the same thing Marc knew of his cut? Marc acidly thought to himself as Dom grew ever more serious.

"Meet me at my lodge after you report to your father. I need to know what happened at the Palm…something isn't adding up..." Dom said, in a way that it won't be tolerated if Marc withheld any information. Marc agreed to his terms silently and nodded.

"I presume you didn't find anything of importance during your journey yourself?" Marc inquired.

Dom deflected his question, "I'll explain it to you at the lodge."

Marc shrugged and exchanged pleasantries with Dom, before taking his leave. It was normal for fellow villagers to be concerned about Marc. The Palm is 'cursed' as everyone says, but Marc is yet to find out why. Only some old tales of traders and merchants going missing made Marc ready to face danger. If not for the tales, his experience of the Palm was perfectly mundane, excluding what happened three days ago of course.

Marc reached home an hour later, after navigating through the familiar alleys he knew since the days he played with his long-forgotten childhood friends. He recalled running down the mud-caked lanes and laughing as they played tag. He hadn't been able to make that many friends once his father chose to hire a personal tutor from the capital of Lorenzia to make sure Marc's education is up to Hirean standards.

Marc found his home dimly lit and the same as ever. The porch was the most welcoming part of the building, with its grand pillars and simple yet refined benches that filled the front space. Marc disregarded it and walked around towards the back end of the place and found himself in his most favorite part of his home. Marc approached the big tree in the middle of the garden and hoisted himself up onto the ladder and climbed into his treehouse.

He dropped his bag on the floor and flung his cloak on the table, kicked his shoes off, then sighed and clambered down to terra firma. Marc walked across the warm, soft grass, and leaped up the steps to the back door of the house, and pushed it open, making his way into the kitchen. There he was - Marc's father - standing in the middle of the room, stern-faced and scowling at him as if an unpleasant thing just entered the place.

"Father…", Marc muttered.

"Taking your own cool time, I see. The reporting is crucial for our village, if we don't know what's going on out there, we won't be able to prepare for it, get your indolent hide here right now and tell me everything. I hope I won't have to tell you twice!", His father spoke in an awfully controlled tone.

Marc sags onto a chair gratefully, his legs were stiff from standing for hours. He sighed and started the report. He went on and on about how the Palm is growing and how more animals are out and about, but he held back the nightmare he had and that a wolf or some big animal tried to kill him.

Immediately when Marc finished he flinched, sensing his father's anger boiling, he knew he was in deep trouble.

"Blast it!", Mr. Arden roared, "The Palm isn't known for its silence, there is always something in there that drives us to finding it out, and there is also that something that you, yes YOU boy-", he stared outrageously at Marc whilst trying to keep up with his breath.

"-You haven't made yourself useful. All those painful days I had to go through, listening to you rambling about some journalist dream, about you wanting to explore the damn world!", Mr. Arden continued, "Can't even get a small part of the Palm inside that thick skull of yours... What have I taught you about observing your surroundings? Huh!? If you don't be more cautious and careful like me and the rest of the Olden, you could get yourself KILLED!"

"That's why I escaped alive last week." thought Marc sourly, Marc knew better than to lose his temper right now, his father had been trying to tempt him into stepping out of line and victoriously punishing him.

Marc had to go through a whole month of being locked in his room with only one meal a day to sustain him, just because he had skipped scouting once and taken refuge in Dom's lodge. He had been discovered roaming the store on the ground floor of the lodge when his father had come to purchase some planks of wood. His father had dragged him home, infuriated.

"If you wanted to be locked up and hidden, you should've said so!" His father bellowed, before slamming Arda's bedroom door shut.

Marc had been gritting his teeth and savoring the idea of just abandoning his father and running away to a faraway town where he could earn a living.

"…the Olden has survived this long because of our mindfulness, you've failed me, boy!" His father was saying, and with that, Mr. Arden left briskly to his quarters in the house, leaving the kitchen with a thunderous slam to the door.

Marc rolled his eyes at the ceiling and stood, opening the kitchen door -the hinges creaking in protest – and making his way to his room, all the way to the other side of the house. Any moment now, these doors are going to fall off their hinges.

Marc and his father were not in need of a massive house, however, his father's popularity in the community, led them to purchase a mansion unnecessarily as some may say, in order to 'uphold his honor'. Marc entered his room, shut the door behind him, turned around, and gasped.

The whole room was spotlessly clean, yet there was something off, the beds were neatly smoothed and made, the wardrobe was polished and groomed, the floor was mopped and waxed, but as Marc flopped onto his bed and opened his bedside cabinet which held his private items, he found…nothing.

All the souvenirs collected from the Palm were gone, all the little bits of treasure he had bought from the marketplace's various stalls were missing and all his candy were stolen!

"No one takes my candy!" Marc thought as he seethed at his father's treachery, he'd had enough, it was time his father learned a lesson.

He swept the laundered curtains aside, opened the spotlessly clean windows, and hoisted himself onto the sill with ease, Marc silently whispered, "See you around dad!", and with that, he turned his nose on the foreign room now behind him and dropped onto the dusty ground outside and ran away to the main block of Acanon.

Marc was wondering how long it would take his father to notice his disappearance to Cartrile – a neighboring town that held a junction that had paths that could lead you to almost any city – he estimated by tomorrow.

He walked towards the bakery to buy food for the trip when he passed a huge store with a sign that said, "Dominic Traders".

How could he have forgotten? Marc entered the store, which set off a bell and glanced at a clock, it was midday now. He made his way to the end of one of the aisles, up a spiral rickety stairway, and into a very friendly living room.

A few moments later, Dom ascended the stairs, a slow step at a time, and into the living room. He chuckled when he saw Marc standing and said,

"I'm glad you didn't forget my summons, I would've had to intercept you just before you left the bakers, that would've been embarrassing".

"Why?" Inquired Marc, disregarding the fact that Dom knew he was to go to the bakers.

"Because I and the baker have…let's say a very rocky history", Dom led Marc to a chair and he himself sat down opposite Marc.

"Ok, now tell me…everything".

It was early evening when Marc stopped recounting last week's adventure a second time, but this time he didn't hold back any of the happenings in the forest. He talked for several precious hours, hours he needed to prepare for his journey to Cartrile.

When he vaguely explained about his dream, a joyful expression crossed Dom's face but when he started to recall his encounter with the beast that cut him, he noticed two differences.

Somehow the memory was so vivid and realistic like it had some power of its own, and for some reason, Dom's expression turned serious and worried. Marc spotted a tinge of anger but then a moment later he thought he imagined it.

Dom had acquired a large amount of energy over the talk and he spoke and moved in vigour. Dom said,

"We're leaving, get whatever you need and meet me at the marketplace, we have to buy supplies and horses for transportation".

"Where are we to go Mr. Dominic?".

"Call me by Dom and nothing else, there's no time for further explanation, now go!".

"Uhh…Dom? I don't have anything at home that I need…".

"Then come with me, we have no time to squander". Marc noticed that Dom, hooking on his cloak, was pleased that Marc didn't have to go collect his things from home. The two men climbed down the staircase.

"Where to next?", asked Marc.

Somewhat comically Dom replied, "Why, we're going shopping!". Marc grinned at the statement and hurriedly followed Dom out of the store.

*

The doorbell clanged as Marc and Dom entered Acanon's blacksmith forge. The window above the door cast a gloomy beam of light, illuminating dust particles around them, and darkening the shadows of shelves of tools around them.

The large, bulky form of Mr. Maradonna looked up from his anvil and gave us a toothy grin, straining to walk with his stout legs, he greeted Dom with a hard shake on his shoulder. Mr. Maradonna peered down to Marc. He and Marc's father weren't on very good terms.

"Hey sonny! Hope yer ain't here with an order from yeh father". Marc anxiously grinned at Mr. Maradonna, who wasn't at all grinning back.

"Alright Dominic?", Mr. Maradonna turned his bulky back on Marc and addressed Dom. "There's a good lad. So, what am I ter forge yeh today?"

Dom slapped his hand on the counter and said, "Swords".

"Wha?", Mr. Maradonna jerked his head and glanced outside.

"Swords, a perfectly balanced sword for me, 31 inches, and a 28 inched sword for the boy. Oh and add a bow and quiver to the order as well."

"I'd like a balanced sword too!" Said Marc sarcastically. Mr. Maradonna gave Marc a revolted look and shook his head at Dom. He lumbered away to the far end of the forge.

"Nah! I told yeh Dom! Yeh gotta stop taking advantage of m-meh!" Stammered Mr. Maradonna. "Yeh full well know I stopped forging them precious toys, all thanks ter yer father!" Mr. Maradonna spat the last part at Marc. He seemed to be having a mind battle.

At last, he sighed and beckoned us to approach. "I've agreed ter make yeh some bad boys, but someone'll have ter man the counter." With that Mr. Maradonna turned and disappeared into a hidden staircase off the side of the building.

"Stay here, I'll be back, I've got to talk to that man." Dom too went down the staircase with the swish of his cloak.

Marc sighed and headed over to the counter and sagged onto the greasy, rickety, wooden stool. He looked around the forge for a while, almost everything was covered in grease and the place was the size of his room. He thought about the needless space his father bought for the mansion when that money and space could benefit the betterment of Acanon.

Marc released his thoughts and found himself staring at his reflection. A mirror, half-covered in grease stood in front of him. It was a long time since Marc checked himself out. He had his usually kept long black hair, a golden-brown tan to his skin, his jawbone had grown more prominent, his face more angular and a thin layer of stubble formed along from his chin to his jaws. Not bad! Thought Marc as he stared into his grey eyes. His eyes wandered down to his clothes: a black leather tunic tucked into brown trousers.

Marc jumped out of his reverie. He heard men shouting outside the forge. Marc scrambled out of the counter and dashed to the tiny window beside the door. A commotion was taking place at the central square.

A small group of protestors - with boards slung around their hunched shoulders - brandished burning torches at two retreating men. A row of peacekeepers was attempting to subdue the angry mob when one man tore through the line of peacekeepers and brought his torch down on one of the retreating men.

Marc flinched as the man fell, unconscious. The fire was eating at his clothes and skin. It was a sickly sight and Marc watched in horror as the man regained consciousness and started convulsing. The fire didn't subside, and the peacekeepers were too busy holding back the cheering mob.

Marc closed his eyes and urged for an unknown sense inside him to reach out and stop the fire. Somehow, he could sense the fire in his mind, a raging entity clearly devoid of control. Marc couldn't take it anymore, he forced his eyes open, terrified.

He had experienced a loss of energy when he tore his consciousness from the fire. He looked at the convulsing man and froze.

The fire was gone. Marc was troubled to find that no signs of water covered the man. Marc staggered away from the window, clumsily wiping away the sweat on his forehead. He leaned against the counter, breathing heavily, trying to regain a little bit of energy.

The encounter terrified Marc. He started shivering as Dom entered the room carrying two packages. Dom stared at him, confused. He set the packages down - one for the two swords, and one for the bow and quiver - and rushed to Marc, a worried expression settling on his face.

"Marc? What's wrong?" Dom shook Marc's arm slightly.

Marc shook his head and forced up a smile. "It's nothing, I just saw something strange happen outside the forge. Marc peered outside and found the square empty. Only a few peacekeepers were still lingering around. Dom followed Marc's eyes and frowned at the peacekeepers.

"Alright then, let's go. We've got what we came for and now it's time to go get provisions for the journey."

"You mean what you came for?" replied Marc angrily. "You never told me we would be purchasing weaponry!"

Dom swept a searching glance across Marc, looking for the source of his emotions.

"Yes, Marc. What I came for. Now let's go."

Dom grabbed Marc around the wrist and steered him out the forge, clearly troubled at Marc's mood.

"I can walk by myself thanks!" Marc grumbled. Dom let go of his wrist and they walk the rest of the way to the bakery in silence.

When they reached the bakery, Dom beckoned Marc towards a side alley.

"Would you mind doing the bartering and buying on your own? You understand, don't you? Given the reasons we've discussed."

Marc shrugged at Dom. The latter giving him a slight nod in return.

"Well go on then, meanwhile I'll be at the stables buying horses and tack, alright? Rendezvous point at my store. Be back at midnight."

Dom gave Marc a reassuring pat on the back and strode off across the square. Marc stared at Dom walking away for a while. Then rounded towards the bakery and pushed his way inside.

With a clang of the doorbell, Marc entered the bakery and set off towards a boisterous Mr. Barnum, who was always talking across the counter as he packed orders for hurried customers. There were hardly anyone in the bakery as it was late evening now. Marc spotted a hunching figure keeping to himself in one crook of the wall.

Mr. Barnum, clearly bored from lack of customers, perked up when he saw Marc. The man was slightly taller than Marc, with a round belly in front of his frame. A lone mustache curled across his upper lip. His eyes twinkled in delight.

"Marc, Arden's son, what brings you here on this fine night." Boomed Mr. Barnum.

"Dominic, Barnum's son, I'm here for only a brief visit, I'll be needing a bundle of breadsticks and a basket of croissants, oh and throw in some jam buns."

"Eheheh, always the sophisticated one eh? Our boy Marc!"

Mr. Barnum shrugged and started bustling around in the kitchen. Marc wondered why it never crossed his mind that Mr. Barnum and Dom shared the same name.

Soon the smells of delicious food wafted around the place, distracting Marc from his thoughts. Marc stood at the counter, dazed in blissful relaxation, staring at the fire that tenders the food to taste incredibly good.

Mr. Barnum turned his back on the fire and started applying jam on some buns. As he was busy, Marc witnessed something odd. A wooden log fell into the oven from the rack above and the fire in the oven rose, it had reached the roof of the oven and would soon burn the food to a crisp. Marc didn't want his food ruined, he turned to warn Mr. Barnum, words just a tip of the tongue away from being uttered, when he experienced it again.

The fire fell to a normal level, with no source of the change, and Marc lost another whole load of energy. He crashed against the counter and leaned against it. Trying to get oxygen into his system. His vision blurred, and black spots danced in front of his eyes.

Marc sat motionless until he felt better, then looked up. Mr. Barnum was talking but no words reached Marc, he was too confused to comprehend what happened. He saw the hunched figure on the side look up at him, tip his head, and suddenly words came rushing into Marc's mind.

"…you alright lad? Tripped over something? You had quite the fall there!"

Marc struggled to bring out words, at last, he choked,

"Was nothing, a small case of asthma has been going on for a while for me, I'll be fine. Is there a telephone anywhere here?".

Mr. Barnum shook his head and dropped the provisions on the counter. The oven behind him was empty and the fire was now crackling merrily.

"No telephone here, too dangerous next to the fire and all that, and you know how expensive those toys have gotten." Said Mr. Barnum enthusiastically. "Here you go lad, that'll be three pendants and two amulets."

Marc reached into his pocket and brought out three big gold coins and two tiny silver ones. Mr. Barnum eyed the money appreciatively as Marc passed them to him across the counter.

"There's a good lad, be good, and don't forget to give in a good word of me to your father, alright?"

"Sure thing Mr. Barnum!" Called Marc behind him. Marc left the bakery and clapped a hand over his heart. Relief flooded into him as he found that he was fine, but a nagging feeling clawed at him, as he made his way to Dom's store, the losses of energy today weren't at all a bad case of asthma.

Marc strode past some stalls lined around the main square, browsing the many items traders have in store these days. He bought a bag of candy with some of the remaining coins, and then looked up at the central clock that stood in the middle of the square, Marc had a couple of minutes to spare, so he made his way to the shop under the clock tower.

A dark-skinned man with long hair was slumped over the counter, clearly asleep. Marc shook his arm lightly and said,

"Mr. Banerji, wake up!"

Mr. Banerji groggily woke up, wiping the sleep from his eyes and looking up at Marc.

"Oh right, it's time. Thanks, Marc!"

Mr. Banerji had a hard time staying awake until midnight to close his own shop, so Marc helps him out every night.

As Mr. Banerji was collecting his possessions, something caught Marc's eye. It was a dagger of deep blue hoisted onto a steel stand carefully. The handle sported a sky-blue gem and the blade was pitch black, rimmed with a thin line of red.

"Hold on Mr. Banerji, how much for that dagger over there?".

Mr. Banerji stared at the dagger. Marc knew he was trying to cook up a miserable price for it.

"That boy over there means serious business. 14th Century forged and all that. I'll have to pass it over for eight pendants. Marc had hoped he might've been able to bargain but that price completely rips him off. Marc smiles sweetly at Mr. Banerji and said,

"What if I were to stop waking you up every night and someone up to no good comes and loots your shop?"

"What if that someone is you eh Marc?" Replied Mr. Banerji loudly.

"That's not my point. You know I'd never do that, and you clearly owe me quite a lot so if you don't mind, I'll submit an offer myself," Marc thought he made quite the speech, he makes a show of thinking up a reasonable price, muttering to himself and all that, then flashed Mr. Banerji a smile and said,

"Four precious pendants, take or leave!".

Mr. Banerji was horrible at bargaining, he loved his money too much, and Marc knew it all. Clearly yearning to go home, Mr. Banerji slid the dagger across the counter and barked,

"Hand over the money, you ungrateful boy!"

Marc grinned and passed Mr. Banerji four gold coins. Then turned, clasped the dagger in his hand and sprinted back towards Dom's store.

Marc reached the store just as Dom was leading the horses into an adjoining stable. Marc slipped the dagger into his belt, feeling no need to share Dom with his purchase, and started chewing on some peppermints. Dom looked up, hearing Marc tramp across the gravel path to the store.

"Ah, right on time!" Dom nodded, clearly pleased with Marc's timing.

"Got all the food? Great! Oh, and you topped it off with some peppermints! Pass me the bag." Dom grinned at Marc, as he flung the bag as hard as he could at Dom, who easily caught it and made a show of dropping it as if the throw was so hard to catch.

Marc huffed and walked up to one of the horses, stroking its locks. The horse whinnied and trotted closer to Marc. The light from the lamp hanging from the store caught the horse's pleasant butter coat. Marc took an immediate liking to the horse.

"I'm keeping this one," Marc said to Dom, who had a mouthful of peppermints already.

"A-Alwight…" Dom chewed on the peppermints for a moment longer, then spat it out, disgusted with himself. Trying to save some dignity, he strode towards the other horse, his posture definite.

"Alright, but this horse here is the war horse!" Dom showed off the second horse to Marc. The beast bore a black coat with grey locks, its limbs rippling with muscles, as was the horse's chest.

Marc whooped appreciatively.

"Would've cost you a fortune to afford that beast."

"Yeah well, it was worth it, seeing as the journey ahead is expected to be long and dangerous." Dom stared at the horse Marc stood next to for a while, then asked, "What be his name?"

Marc immediately thought of 'Butter' but shoved the thought aside and browsed for name options. He thought of the fires early in the day.

"Conflagre, his name be it."

Dom's eyes twitched and a moment later he nodded.

"It is a good name as any." Then he dropped the christening. "We'd better get ourselves some sleep, we leave to Cartrile at first light."

"Where would I sleep?"

"I have a spare room for you to sleep if that's what you're asking."

Marc smiled at the speed at which Dom recognized his intentions. "Then we leave at first light tomorrow." He said.