《Etari: The school for assassins and soilders》


 Chapter 1

    ¡°MAUVEN FANGERA,¡± his demanding voice booms, ¡°GET YOUR LAZY ARSE OUT HERE, NOW!¡±


    I bolt awake, scrambling out of my cot and into the sweltering air. It¡¯s the end of August, and in Leiyetta that means it¡¯s unbearable, the final hot snap of the dwindling summer days excruciating, almost inhumane. But I should enjoy it, while I can. I won¡¯t be able to for much longer, perhaps never again.


    Darting around my room, scraps of worn clothes fall in a storm, fluttering to the ground and shrouding my feet as I at last snatch a pair of fresh linens, and tear them over my frazzled hair. Concentrating hard, I squeeze my eyes shut, and force my hair to soothe itself. But my gift has not been strong in the last few years, least of all under pressure, so instead of falling sleek, it merely stays the same frizzy mess.


    ¡°MAUVEN! I SAID NOW.¡±


    I fly down the hall, cursing myself with each thunk of my heart. I shouldn¡¯t have been so stupid. How could I have woken so late? It must have been all of the worrying.


    I find him in the living room, seated in his favorite, cushy armchair, the seams at last ripping from years of use. He is furious, I know this by the way his arms are crossed tight, and the frown on his unshaven face, which is somehow smothered with grime.


    Keeping my face blank, I cross the threshold and bow at my waist, my eyes attentively glued to the scratched, wooden floor,


    ¡°I am sorry, Father,¡± I swallow heavily.


    He grunts his dismissal, and I stand from my bow, instantly falling into routine as I snatch the rusted pail from the hearth of the ashen fireplace.


    ¡°You should be sorry,¡± he grumbles through cracked teeth, ¡°You are nothing more than a waste of air. I do not need you, you do know this, do you not?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Father,¡± I agree, walking out of the squeaky kitchen door, and into the rising daylight, the sun just beginning to illuminate the sky.


    I fill the pail with water from our old well, the bucket now heavy and full, and set it by my fathers side, his jagged voice still ringing through the dusty air.


    ¡°I do not ask much of you, Mauven.¡± He grunts as I retrieve the leather bound set of knives, ¡°And yet, you are still unbearably pathetic. You do not deserve it, your second hand invitation. If I had it my way, you would not set a single foot inside the sacred halls of Etari.¡±


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Nodding silently, I soak a washcloth and approach his side, hesitant as I wipe caked dirt from scarred cheeks. He falls silent, but his teeth grind horribly, grating in my ears.


    As I dip the cloth back into the pail, he bursts out, ¡°Why does it have to be you, who will bring forth the Fangera name? It should have been Daxton. He would have made me proud.¡±


    My heart throbs at my brother''s name. It''s been two years since he died, but the pain is no less than that day. It should be him, to take place at Etari, the traditional school of war. I know I will be no suitable replacement, hardly a fighting bone in my body. At least, that is what father says. And who am I to deny him? It is he who fought for Leiyetta, afterall.


    My eyes flick to his blanketed thighs, shielding the truth of his demise.


    ¡°Why couldn¡¯t it have been you?¡± He demands, as I bring a sharpened blade to his jaw, ¡°It is not right that the rot stole him, leaving me alone. It is sickening, that it will be you.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Father,¡± I scrape off a thick section of hair.


    As my hand drifts down, he snatches it, squeezing my fingers until they turn blue,


    ¡°You listen to me, Mauven. If you so much as breathe out of line, your punishment will be greater than you can possibly imagine. I will not be made a fool to my comrades. Do you understand me?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Father, I understand,¡± I say, almost reflexively.


    He releases my hand and clucks his tongue, allowing me to continue to shorn the hair from his chin. I do not blame him for these comments, Dax was perfect. He was so ready to continue my father¡¯s legacy, even willing to die for it. So of course father is furious, petrified I will turn his reputation to soot. It¡¯s not like I have much to offer, unless those at Etari are looking for a clean shave.


    Wiping his face clean, leaving only wrinkles behind, I prepare breakfast for the grumbling man. He will not sit at the table, he won¡¯t leave his chair at all unless he has to, but I cannot blame him for that, either. His final battle stole more from him than his position.


    I bring over a tray of eggs, saving the rest for the days that will follow. He will need to be careful in preserving his food. He will not be allowed more for a fortnight.


    As he eats, his blanket falls, exposing mangled thighs. I move without hesitating, again draping it over the legs that will never again be. I have long wondered what life would be like, if Rakile had not gone so wrong. If father had been given the position of Leiyetta¡¯s General, and not doomed to a dishonorable discharge.


    It will be hard for him, without me here, even if he swears otherwise. For if the Kyne¡¯s do not uphold their promise, and leave him to his own, I know there will not be a man to return to, perhaps just bone.


    This is not how it was supposed to happen, with Dax deep below the earth. It was his destiny to attend Etari, to thrive and conquer the Shield''s. For me, I can only hope to take a place amongst the White¡¯s, and do my best to disappear.

 Chapter 2

    Knock. Knock. Knock.


    Soft, bouncy footsteps approach the cherry door, and the handle, a clear, sparkling stone, twists, revealing the inside of the exquisite home. The smell of freshly baked blueberry pie wafts from the portrait drowned hall, the soft sunlight illuminating the smiling figure of Mrs. Kyne.


    ¡°Mauven! I was wondering when we would be seeing you,¡± the elderly woman chirps, her white hair wound into a fine bun as usual, ¡°Do come in, why don¡¯t you?¡±


    I nod tentatively, a small, polite smile tugging at my lips, ¡°Thank you, Mrs. Kyne.¡±


    ¡°No matter, dear, no matter.¡± She trots ahead, her steps springy and light.


    Mrs. Kyne leads me to the kitchen; a beautiful mesh of polished, wooden cabinets, tall, crystal windows, and a tiled, red and white floor. A clock ticks above the bay window, and on the island sits the fresh pie, still sizzling from the oven.


    ¡°How is your father, dear? Is Krein holding up alright?¡± She asks, pouring two mugs of tea and arranging a plate of biscuits.


    ¡°He is doing as well as he can,¡± I answer honestly. There is no point in lying to Mrs. Kyne. She has a certain talent for sensing when one is not telling the truth.


    ¡°Yes, that is to be expected, I suppose,¡± Mrs. Kyne sighs sympathetically, ushering me to the bay window, where she places the tea before us, ¡°And how are you holding up, dear? In light of your adventure.¡±


    The clock ticks rhythmically as I take a sip of my scalding tea, the scent sweet honey and chamomile, one lump of sugar slowly dissolving at the bottom.


    ¡°It is a great honor, to attend Etari¡­I am most concerned for my father.¡±


    Mrs. Kyne nods seriously, her hazel eyes piercing into mine, ¡°That is natural, you have taken such great care of him since your mother passed, gods bless her soul. But Mauven,¡± she squeezes my hand, her grip wrinkled yet firm, ¡°I will do all I can to help him. I swear it.¡±


    I smile back at her gratefully, bowing my head as I take another sip of my tea. It is a relief, that she will stay true to her promise. It makes what I am about to do much easier.


    ¡°You will do well, Mauven,¡± Mrs. Kyne says firmly, so at odds with her typical cheery tune, ¡°You have a very strong jaw, and glacial eyes, which see the truth. These features are not just physical, but run in your blood, too. You remember that, do you hear me?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mrs. Kyne,¡± my voice is thick as I stand from the plush, red cushion, ¡°I hope to see you again, thank you for your help.¡±


    ¡°Of course, dear,¡± she smiles motherly, leading me out of the home, waving as I latch her rose-covered gate closed.


    ???


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°You will be on your best behavior,¡± he commands, his voice almost echoing, ¡°You will do what they say, when they say it, and without any complaints. If you are lucky, you will blend in with the Whites, and mesh into the great machine.¡±


    Father has been like this since I returned; all throughout the washing, the preparing of canned food, and cooking of two meals. It is now close to the middle of the night, the seconds seeming to move faster as the time grows closer.


    ¡°And do not forget to tell them of your brother, of the warrior he would have become. It is essential they know it is he who belongs, that the fates chose him, not you,¡±


    ¡°Yes, Father,¡± I say from the kitchen, where I am folding the laundry.


    There is nothing else I can prepare for my departure. Nothing will keep me from fulfilling tonight¡¯s task. It is essential I get there on time, I have precisely half an hour until I leave. Father is usually asleep by now, but the terror of what I may do to the sacred Fangera name has fired his mind alive.


    He acts as if it is my choice, to attend this school of war. But truthfully, I did not want this, and it was only by chance that Dax was chosen. Etari is traditional, a token to the gods whom used to rule this world; Helrion, the father of life and death, and Merikna, the mother of love and lies.


    The draft has always been a part of Leiyetta, almost like a sliver of her soul. 200 kids are chosen at 15, their names drawn by the most sacred of Mages. But it is not until they reach the age of 20 that Etari at last opens its halls.


    It was Dax whose name was chosen, but when he died, his conscription was passed on to me. I promised him I would try, even if I was sure I would die. But Dax took no notice or my fears, assuring me it would be fine. It was easy for him to say, when he would have enlisted even if his name was not chosen, likely the very day he came of age.


    Those who volunteer are trained on the continent, in Leiyetta¡¯s homeland. But the selected students of Etari are sent to Isle Parisama, where the hidden castle lies deep within the mountain Evermeah.


    Within Etari, two civilizations lie, mixed together yet separate. There is the House of Helrion, home to the defenders of light, destined to bring honor to their bloodline. And then there is the House of Merikna, composed of shadow, filled with the deepest of secrets.


    But none of that comes until year two, which only half of the chosen will come to experience. The first year of training is brutal, unforgiving of any weakness.


    ¡°Mauven, are you listening to me? I said to bring me my spirits,¡± Father demands, his depthless, black eyes lacking a soul.


    ¡°I am sorry, Father,¡± I rush to his side, pouring a glass of poisonous smelling liquor.


    The clock chimes midnight, and my back goes rigid. It is time to leave. The ship will be silent at this hour, but it will not be for long.


    I straighten a blanket on the back of the couch, fluffing a deflated pillow and looking around the room. There is nothing else I can do. Not anymore.


    Turning to my father, head dipped and bangs curtaining my eyes, I whisper, ¡°I must leave. I will write when I arrive.¡±


    Father¡¯s eyes narrow to slits, ¡°Do not write unless you have been placed into the Whites. There is nothing else I care to know.¡± He grumbles, then continuing on, ¡°Daxton would have been put into the Shields, they would have seen it right away!¡± He exclaims, thumping a meaty fist on the arm of the chair, ¡°You will never bring honor like he would have. You have never been a child of mine.¡±


    Swallowing heavy and nodding along, I wait until his rant comes to a close before bowing at the waist. I take soft steps to the door, avoiding the squeaky floorboard which always earns me a lecture.


    The only possession I am bringing is Dax¡¯s favorite throwing knife, the leather handle worn and grooved, perfectly aligning with his agile fingers and holding precious memories. He gave it to me on his deathbed, tucking it into my hand, making me swear I will try, that I will not die at Etari, that I will make it out of the mysterious walls. I swore to him I would, that I would not go down a coward. But reaching for the door handle now, my hand trembling over the wooden knob, I have to wonder if it was right for me to promise him something that will not come true.


    ¡°And Mauven,¡± Father growls, his back turned, ¡°If you should make it to the choosing, and you are not sorted into the house of light, it would be better if you died.¡±

 Chapter 3

    The night is calm and peaceful, the air still warm and comfortable. Most critters of the forest have long since slept, but some still skitter about the bushes. Mice will occasionally hop across my feet, and the deep call of an owl sounds just before it launches, soaring further into the dense tree canopy.


    The quiet is my favorite, at times all I dream for. Often, I dread speaking at all. But perhaps that is because of all the time I spend with father, who hardly allows me a second of speech. It will be strange to no longer care for him, to be absent from the voice which has commanded me for so long.


    A part of me is intrigued by this idea; a life without him badgering over my shoulder. But it will not last long, the silence and reprieve, for soon I will walk the halls of Etari, and enter the school of mystery.


    But before any of that, I will first have to cross the Serpents Sea. The waters of which are quite treacherous, and based on the smell of the air, I would expect a storm to soon peck at the bay. If the waters are turned furious by the brewing storm, it will only be by the grace of the gods that the ship makes it to the island.


    The boat I have chosen would not have been my first choice, but I didn¡¯t have any other option. Father refused to pay for the voyage, and our small port town is a day''s ride from the next village, so I had to make my own arrangements.


    I have watched the ship, named the Blue Heron, for many weeks now, each time under the veil of darkness. The ship claims to be merchantry, but based on the shrouded boxes that are regularly brought to Isle Parisama, I would wager it is more than supplies that they carry.


    They leave twice a week, at exactly three in the morning, only returning at dusk on the second evening of their initial departure. It is not ideal, sneaking onto a guarded ship, but this is my only chance. No other ship dares face the Serpents Sea, nor the consequences of approaching the Isle. Not unless they wish an arrow through their throats.


    I approach the edge of the forest, the grass now long and tall, and peer down the steep hillside, where the Blue Heron sits bobbing in the thrashing, black waves.


    I am right on time, with ten minutes remaining. It will not be long before the crew swap shifts, and unless this night is the exception, the young man whom they call Alkeri will be dozing on a rusted crab trap, exhausted from his typical nine hour shift, which ends at precisely 1:30 in the morning.


    Sneaking down the hillside, making sure to stay out of the moon''s glow, I meet the lip of the sandy shore. I remove my shoes, tying them together to drape around my neck, and allow the sloshing water to cover my bare feet.


    I move silently through the frigid waves, careful to step on secured stones, and peer through the porthole that has become quite familiar, where I have for many weeks watched the scarlet haired man.


    As I had expected, and meticulously checked, the man is sleeping on the empty crate, his head tipped back and mouth ajar, a soft snore rumbling down the deck.


    Satisfied, and only five minutes remaining, I dip further into the water, the cold soaking up to my waist as I move quickly to the roped anchor. Shimmying up the rope, careful to keep it from shifting and making sound, I find the railing¡¯s ledge, and slide onto the slippery ground.


    My heart seems to consume my mind as I take my first step to the shipping hall, careful to avoid the creaking boards which I have memorized in the last month. It was essential for me to learn the ship''s secrets in preparation for the voyage. The Blue Heron is not known for its kindness, and if I am found before reaching the Isle, the best I can hope for is to be drowned.


    My steps feel heavy, perhaps from fear, and as I approach the dozing crewmate, my heart seems to stop when he shifts in his sleep, grumbling as he scratches his nose. He at last returns to stillness, and my heart again soothes, but only for a moment, for when I reach the doorway, my hand already on the steel knob, footsteps approach from port side.


    Just before the man breaks around the side of the ship, I duck between two large boxes, shielded by the shadows, even given a small view.


    ¡°ALKERI! What have I told you!¡± Bellows the stern crewmember, whose voice so reminds me of the Captain''s right hand man, Lieutenant Harn.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    The crab crate squeals, along with the loose floorboards, ¡°Sorry, Lieutenant Harn! It was only for a moment, I swear!¡±


    ¡°Oh you swear, do you?¡± Lieutenant Harn sneers, his thick, black boots pummeling the ground, ¡°Well I swear that this is the last I will be seeing of you! Oh the Captain will have to listen to me now. You come with me boy, it is about time you learnt a proper lesson.¡±


    By the grace of the gods, the two men, one with slouching footsteps, the other bold and determined, disappear from the deck, nary a clue of my panicked presence.


    Not wasting a moment, I disappear behind the door and lean against the worn frame. But it is now that I find another unexpected surprise, in the form of a young man, slipping in through the hidden door in the floor, entirely soaked from the churning sea, his sleek, black hair dripping silently.


    He hoists himself through the door, setting it carefully back into place as water soaks the glossy floor. Lifting his head, his mahogany eyes flash in shock, his only reaction as he finds his company. He glances me over, but has nothing to fear, the reason he is here is the same as I.


    On his chest is a silver brooch, carved with an intertwined sun and moon, the symbol of the school of Etari, which is required for one to enter the hidden castle.


    He takes notice of my own, pinned to my right breast, and nods slowly, retreating into the furthest shadows of the shipping room, where the largest of crates are stored. I follow suit, as it had been my plan, and wind to a back corner.


    I release a breath at the plan that seemed too good to be true, and observe the boy, who sits across in his own shadowed corner, completely silent and still.


    The boy is lean and tall, his skin the smoothest brown. He is garbed in shabby, black fabrics, the hem of his pants too short and small, but holds himself with composure, almost so still he could be a statue. He is observant, and is obviously taking me in the same way I am he. But I do not blame him. Not when this ship holds consequence beyond reason. My first thought is that he would make an excellent Lock, the epitome of those put into the House of Merikna. Oh what father would say if he saw¡­


    The ship bobs silently, and as the eve turns to three, we at last hear the anchor pulled back into place, and feel the Blue Heron drift off to sea.


    ???


    As I had predicted, the sea is furious and violent. The crates shift as the ship thrashes, and I find myself desperately praying I will not be sick. The boy seems to be doing as poorly as I, but it is hard to tell, for he has somehow grown more hidden by thick shadows, which seem to kiss his sides. He may be gifted with the night, it is always a possibility.


    Gifts are coveted by the world of Everneza, and most especially my home country of Leiyetta. They come from the heart of our world, in the lands of Savinel Erom, just as the rest of Everneza¡¯s magic. But the heartland is fading, magic is growing more rare, and gifts have nearly disappeared. It is unlikely he would be gifted, but it is not impossible. Afterall, I, myself, possess such a gift, though for the most part it does not feel to be there.


    It is no longer strong, not like Mrs. Kyne, who can detect if someone is telling the truth. My gift has dwindled with age, not strengthened as it should have. When I was a child, I could change my short, black hair to long, blonde curls, and eyes of dazzling violet. Sometimes I would even stretch so tall that I could pick the highest cherries from our old tree. Dax loved to watch me do it, always applauding and begging for more. At least until father came out, and yelled until his face turned purple. He has never liked my gift, often calling it unnatural. Which is funny, because for the longest time it was the most natural thing I could do.


    At last, after a terrible day and night, every hour filled with ruthless crashing and the constant fear of being caught, the Blue Heron pulls into Port Morai, the hollering of crewmates heard through the thin walls as they rush about the deck in preparation for arrival.


    As soon as the boat lurches to a stop, the boy and I stand in unison. We do not have long to leave the ship unnoticed, and there is only one way out alive.


    We creep around the towering boxes, both of our shoes removed to prevent any unnecessary sound, and he again opens the trapdoor, ducking his head for me to get down.


    I lower to my knees and slide through the hole, careful to gracefully enter the calm waters. Just as I touch down, the boy meets my side, the trapdoor closed just in time, for now there is a stampede of crewmembers above, rushing about what was once our refuge.


    We tread lightly, and move closer to the black, sandy shore, making sure to stay shielded by the worn dock, which is bustling with merchants and guards. While we are allowed on the Isle, being students, afterall, it would not be wise to startle the guards, nor reveal ourselves to the Blue Heron, who would still kill us even though the damage is well past done.


    Pressing firmly into where the dock meets the sand, as far from the ship as I can manage, the boy soon settles close to my side, peering at the dock with attentiveness.


    We will wait here until the ship departs, which may be problematic, as the sea is rising and will steal our air in less than an hour''s time. It would be better if the water was not so cold, my clothes now heavy and chafing. But alas, this was never going to be an easy journey. And the worst has still yet to come.