A School For All
Shortly after the reconquest of the halls of the maidens, Secret Avalanche overheard the following conversation.
A crowd had gathered at one of the central posts of the tavern where a rider had just arrived from the Plum Blossom Retreat. He was hammering a sheet of parchment to a post in the center of the hall. Once he had finished, he strode quickly back out the door, and he could be heard galloping away to the east at a rapid canter.
In the tavern that night, at the edge of spring, a cross section of the populace of God Crossing was gathered for one last celebration before the planting. Probably half of the adults there, men and women, had the sunburst on their right shoulder that marked them as veterans of the Battle of Breaking Iron, but amongst them were more than few of the short, broad-shouldered hill tribesmen and even a pair of goat-headed men that kept to the outskirts of the crowd. A half a dozen children circulated in the hall as well; children of the manager of the tavern, they carried empty pitchers back to the bar while weaving between legs and under tables. At least twenty of them were elders of the town, greybeards and matrons taking their ease and worrying over the news of the day.
The keeper of the tavern, Father Bricks, put down his dish cloth and rounded the bar, looking over the crowd with concern. “Hey, what’s this now? I’ll not have any trouble here tonight.”
Selara, closest to the notice, focused her eye on the parchment and saw only a picture of the Retreat’s gates standing open, with an open book beneath them. She squinted, as though the words made some sense to her but were perhaps written in too fine a print. “I think… it must be another war coming!”
The crowd shouted, some in delight and some in fear, and everyone pressed closer to the notice. Secret Avalanche slipped out of his chair and hit the balcony floor like a ton of stone; the floor creaked menacingly. Nonchalantly he replaced his stool and sat once again, sipping from his mug with apparent disinterest.
“Now, now, let’s see what this foolishness is about. War, during the planting? Kings never ride till the mud dries. Clear a path, you loafers!” Old Maga Trapjaw shouted and pushed her way into the throng. Half as tall as any of the men in room, the years had not been kind to Maga. She had iron gray hair and eyes almost completely occluded by cataracts, fingers like old roots and legs that wobbled like a new-born foal. She beat and cursed her way to the head of the crowd until she bumped into the back of Selara.
“Hey, you thug, give me your great-grandmother a hand.” Selara obligingly lifted up the matron to eye level with the notice. She wrinkled her nose and pressed her face close until it almost touched the paper, while the whole crowd leaned in over her. She spoke at last, her rasping voice cutting through the room.
“It’s a school. There’s going to be a school at the Retreat.”
Old warriors like Selara cackled with laughter at the thought, while the children breathed sighs of relief and continued working. Jebber the Stammerer spit out, “Wh-what will they teach us at this school? Am I to learn to r-ruh-ride all over again?” Fresh laughter spilled over the tavern and mugs clattered on tables. Maga traced a finger down the list of courses. At a pause in the laughter, as Father Bricks was motioning that he had a particularly apt quip to share she broke in and said, “Maybe, you halfwitted oafs, but you’ll also learn to read!”
Lyssa, the short waittress trying hard to hide her wild taint, set down her tray and looked over. Zhou Wing, the lean scout with three fingers on his left hand, scratched his chin and thought. There was a moment of silence as furtive glances were exchanged through the room. Someone from the back of crowd asked, in a sheepish voice, “What else does it say?”
A baby was crying. Its thin wails echoed over the amphitheater, over the hundreds straight-backed people seated in unruly rows about the amphitheater. Five hundred Marukan sat bolt upright, faces forward, twitching uncomfortably in their new robes of slate gray linen. An hour ago they had entered the Plum Blossom Retreat to the sound of thirty drums and sixty flutes, each receiving the materials that they would need for their training. Already, across the terrace, in their own charchoal uniforms, the martial school was beginning.
They sat in their families, in groups as small as two and as large as twenty. Grandmothers sat with five year old children in their laps, young wives sat with grizzled veterans. At the front of the amphitheater, Serrakeen was speaking to the crowd.
"Every afternoon, for the next two seasons, you will do as you have always done in the mornings. You will tend your fields, do your cooking, and run your businesses. At two in the afternoon, you are expected to be here, in this amphitheater, washed," laughter broke out in the crowd. "...Washed, and in your uniforms, with your quill, your ink, and your notebook. At that time we will sound this bell." The ifrit turned and pointed to the top of the civil school's tower. A great booming note pealed out over the crowd, and in a sudden wave of enthusiasm, the entire assembled body stood from their seats and cheered. Serrakeen motioned for the crowd to silence itself, first with a raised hand, then by waving both arms, then with a sudden gout of flame from both eyes. The crowd eventually settled down.
"If you are not here when the bell rings, you will not be admitted for the rest of the day! You must be ready to learn. If you are sick, you will report to the medical hospital. If you have lost your materials, you will need to pay a fine to the quartermaster. Stand and wave to the crowd, Quartermaster Ting!" Twelve men and women stood up in the crowd, and laughter broke out once again.
From the back of the amphitheater, Rivers Between Us stood watching with Nameless Ravine. The dawn caste turned to his circle-mate and said, "This is a bureaucratic nightmare."
Rivers smiled and nodded his head, waving to his sister in the crowd. He himself was wearing the lighter grey robe of a student in the Civil School. "You're absolutely right." He tried to seem concerned, but his excitement made him look like a reprimanded schoolboy himself. Nameless Ravine shook his head as he looked at the young sorcerer.
"Well, perhaps the Martial School is going..." At that moment, the exalt was interrupted by the sound of a second bell, followed by a booming roar. Its ferocity washed over the quiet retreat, setting birds flying and screaming into the sky. This time it was Rivers that looked worried... and Nameless Ravine that beamed with hope.
Two months into the school, Rivers toured the schools.
“Here’s the first one that Cathak mentioned. I don’t really advise getting much closer; she’s truly ferocious. But judge for yourself...” The student assigned by Su Jiao shuffled her notes as she spoke, preparing for the next hopeful. The wizard leaned over the kwoon’s balcony.
Selara was dressed in the charcoal uniform of the martial school. She did not notice the other students the school; class had been over for over an hour and most of the farmers had returned home for an all too brief night of sleep. The warrior was working for herself now; over and over she practiced her blocks against the wooden dummy, though her forearms were already deep red with bruises and an open gash on her shin continued to spot the armatures with black stains.
Rivers nodded his head. “Take her name down in column four. If she wants to learn martial arts, we’ll show her a little more.”
The assistant nodded and said, “That’s the last one for the martial school. Besides the members of existing special units, that makes twelve for column three and nine for column four. It looks like we may need a contest to sort this out after all.”
They continued talking as they crossed the grand promenade beneath the blooming plum trees. “You say this last one is a talented surgeon?”
“Indeed... you wouldn’t think it to look at him, but his work speaks for itself. Seamless sutures, bones set as good as new... his work is truly amazing. His name is Zhou Wing; he’s a veteran from the battle and a father of four.”
“Hmm... he should fill out the second column then.” Rivers stopped on the back walkway to the hospital in a small plaza by a quiet fountain. He turned and looked at the assistant. “Did you know that Su Jiao also mentioned your name?”
Lyssa blushed slightly, but replied, “It would be overly generous of her. My obvious defects would preclude me from selection.”
Rivers looked her over carefully; long black hair, a little short, broad nose, dark skin. Perfect manicure. He walked around her, and noticed a curious bulge nearly hidden by the robes. “You have a tail. Ah. I will explain to you in three ways why Su Jiao was correct. First of all, I just added a one-eyed soldier as a potential candidate; that would seem to be a much more significant disadvantage. Second of all, you know that this change that we are selecting for will leave you changed in far more obvious ways. Third, you have already proven yourself indispensable and capable of carrying out your responsibilities efficiently and with keen insight. I will need such a person. I will need such a person to take charge of the Infinite City in my absence.”
The young waitress nodded and said with a half smile, “You’re very direct.”
“Hmm... yes... they keep telling me that that’s a problem...” Rivers frowned and pinched his nose.
“Let me ask one question first: what is this Infinite City you just mentioned?”
Fifty men and women, young and old, stood in Great Hall of the Plum Blossom Retreat. To one side stood Chung Chih, Su Jiao, and Bi Tian, the first generation of amalgams. At the head of the hall, three solars stood. Evening had fallen; the feasting was over and most of the student had returned to their homes for the much need break. For fourteen weeks they had trained and studied how best to develop their native abilities, and they little understood why this respite had been granted before the final phase of their education in character and noble virtue. These fifty had been called aside, as well as Lyssa, who listened from behind a screen.
Rivers spoke. “You fifty and one have been selected to join the first three. Out of all of your peers you have shown the greatest promise, initiative, courage, dedication, and loyalty. In a week we will begin taking you from your classes to undergo the change.”
Nameless Ravine nodded. “Each of you has agreed to take the change, and so you understand cost and the reward. The magic will bind you to us forever, and change you in ways we do not entirely know. You will different, but you will also be powerful.”
Leaf Shakes the Wind spread one hand. “During this week you must prepare yourself. Say good bye to all that you once were, for when you are changed you will be given tasks of great importance and tremendous danger. You will have the chance to heal land and protect the people, but your power will still be as nothing to the deathlord’s assassins. Say farewell, and find for yourselves one thing, one precious object that represents all that you are sacrificing for, all that you love that is the Marukan. Return with it, and it will become a part of you. Forever.”
Selara the fierce stepped forward and shouted, “I am ready now! Take my sword and make us one! I need no time to reflect.”
A dozen warriors stepped forward beside her and gave a great hurrah, lifting their own weapons.
Rivers gave a weak smile and spread his arms with his palms downward. “No, seriously, take a week to think about it. I mean…”
Nameless Ravine interrupted him mid-sentence. “You’re not choosing which pretty little manwhore to bed tonight. This is your destiny, you slugs. Take a week!”
There was one last shout of acclamation, and the hall was emptied.
