Young Writers Society

Author's Notes: 2,435 words.  I'm tired, so the editing is likely bleh.  It probably would make things less ambiguous if I said Ceinen was a deer from the start (for reasons that will only become apparent later) - specifically, the one in the big fighting scene against Ailean.  Also yaaay let's destroy Eremia's confidence in her reality and have her take it poorly.

A few second’s silence was broken up by the sounds of somebody tripping outside. Several pairs of eyes focused on the world beyond the tent and saw a man with long russet hair fall onto the ground, nearly dropping the small, white vase he held in his hands. He wore an oversized brown coat and pants, and struggled to keep himself together as he staggered towards everyone else. He wore a tight belt around his waist to hold his outfit in place, and had a small cap on the top of his head that resembled a horn. Eremia noticed the elaborate tattoo designs along his arms, composed of elegant curls and graceful, natural patterns, as his bare feet sloppily traveled across grass, mud, and dirt. The man seemed surrounded by an array of faint, but surprisingly powerful, smells.

Madeleine stood up, smiling, and walked over to him, helping him into the space. “Thank you, thank you – hello there, I haven’t seen you before – where is Terasu? – how is that bow still working after all these years? – who is this man sitting at my seat?” he garbled in rushed tones, jumping from topic to topic without logic or reason. Most everyone nodded or stared warily at the vase in his hands.

In response to the last question, Yorew awkwardly stood up and chose the next seat down the table. Eremia could’ve sworn that, for a second, he was blushing, as the new man sat between him and Madeleine. A smile reached the edges of her lips, but was quickly evaporated by the growing sense of responsibility on her shoulders.

Now Madeleine was a lot brighter. “Eremia, this here is Ceinen.” Eremia held out her hand, and Madeleine nudged Ceinen to do the same. His grip was awkward and shaky, and he was clearly uncomfortable, but he shook hands nevertheless, reflexively shaking Eremia’s hand again as Madeleine introduced him to Yorew. “Eremia will be our new apprentice,” Madeleine said with pride.

He blinked his eyes for a few seconds in confusion, staring Eremia up and down. For a brief second, their eyes met, and she found his weirdly hypnotic, as though they were staring at her and everything around her at the same time. Ceinen realized he was still clenching Eremia’s hand and let go. “But, but,” he stammered in surprise, “did I, I didn’t, have any say!” He placed the jar between him and Eremia. “If she can stand this – and none of you have wanted to, by the way – she can face adversity that we have and comes with the job.”

“There is no need for this,” retorted Alarick, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “She wishes to join us, and her demands for the truth and her goals have won our approval. Besides, I warned you not to bring that jar with you.”

Ceinen was befuddled. “It is a part of me, and all of me must be with all of you to make all of us devoted,” he rambled, reaching to open the canister. Eremia was now more perceptive of the strange fumes that were coming from it, and was prepared to abandon her seat in haste. She breathed a sigh of relief as Madeleine placed her hand over Ceinen’s and pulled it back. Still, he persisted to speak. “How, how is she expected to stand and face storms if she can’t learn how to take each of us and our problems and hopes and identities and not run away? Where is her conviction?”

In the midst of peering at a slightly-frayed bowstring, Jonathan looked up and admitted, “He has a point.” Eremia glared at him for a second, but his calm and strong appearance broke her stare in two.

Alarick sighed and looked upon Eremia begrudgingly, while her eyes swiveled to his. “Well, will you come with us? Will you join us as we make our way to Wyandanch and end this oncoming calamity?”

“…Who am I doing it for?” said Eremia tensely, after a few seconds of waiting to see how Alarick would continue.

“You know who,” he said. “You must sit on a dead man’s seat without fear for something.”

She breathed deeply for a few seconds and stared down Ceinen (which, given his nervous demeanor, wasn’t that hard). “I may not fight for any of you, but I will fight for Jonah, and I will handle any threat or new experience for his sake. If you can only promise me the truth, and nothing but the truth, I will join you, and keep your status secure through the authority of Wyandanch and my parents, the King and Queen of Exedor.”

When Alarick stood up, everyone followed. “That settles that. You are now the apprentice of both Madeleine and Ceinen, Eremia. Your training begins tomorrow, as we have no time to waste. First, I’d rather that you accompany Madeleine and Jonathan to speak with Aquila on the topic of sending a message to Exedor. If you wish to know the truth, that may be your best option. Ceinen, we have a general battle plan laid out, but I’d like to discuss with you some specifics. Everyone else is dismissed.”

With that concluded, Alarick exited the tent, most of the gathering in tow. The two asked to follow her did so silently, allowing her confident steps to speak for herself. Yorew (and Eremia, who followed his gaze) watched as, behind him, Alarick consoled the stressed and confused Ceinen, the latter having opened up several maps and was pointing at various spots. Then Yorew walked alongside Eremia, observing the way Latton broke apart from the rest and was lost in the maze of beige tents that littered the camp. No doubt Latton was looking for Terasu’s tent, Eremia concluded. An image of a scorched red tent flashed in her mind. Would the man inform the fiery girl that Eremia had sat on Rowland’s seat?

She sincerely hoped otherwise, as she wanted to live past today. Eremia resolved that it would be best to avoid the dead man’s legacy from that moment onwards.

******

Madeleine led Eremia into one of the white-painted hospital tents to find Aquila. As she explained during their walk, Aquila had been burned by Terasu’s breaking his ropes, and had spent much of the previous fight searching for Eremia. It had taken them some time to find him and convince him to stop, but he had been quickly moved into the already-crowded hospital and healed.

They found him lying on the ground in a pile of hay, rubbing arms that were slightly bandaged. Aquila looked tired, but not nearly as panicky as yesterday, when the trio sat down and surrounded him. Eremia found it hard to look at him without pity, but it was better than seeing all of the bloodied, burned, and injured troops littering makeshift stretchers and chairs in the expansive space. She had once read that healing magic was far less effective if the wound was not healed quickly enough, or if the injury was too severe, as trying to heal such wounds would require far more energy than a healer could muster without risk to their own health. If the body gained an idea of what it looked like that accommodated such injuries, it would take a massive amount of force to shift it to any previous state.

Jonathan nudged her shoulder. She wiped the dirt off and, while sitting with her legs crossed, began to speak. “We need you to send a message to Exedor.”

To her surprise, Aquila shook his head. “I need you,” he responded in a voice tinged with desperation.

“I am looking for my brother, so I cannot come,” she responded, still caught off guard. “Why am I so necessary now, and not when you first came?”

“Before,” murmured Aquila, looking away, “I was more afraid of dying here than dying there. So I was selfish, and-”

“I…what?”

Jonathan’s eyes narrowed as they jumped between Aquila and Eremia, awaiting a reaction from either of them for him to interrupt. Madeleine placed a hand on Eremia’s shoulder to stop her from trembling in alarm and fear. “…dy-dying there? Wh…what could you mean by that?”

He continued to look away. Eremia’s face blanched as she placed her palms over her chest and tried to breathe deeply. All that led to was a rattling in her throat that made her stutter as she spoke. “Wh-who i-i-is your comm-m-ander?”

Aquila sighed as his eyes lowered in what was either shame or defeat. “…The Lord of Eagles,” he mumbled.

Eremia gasped for air. Jonathan tried to grasp her other shoulder, but she batted his hand aside. “A-and…why w-would he te-tell you that?” she questioned, her fear and worry beginning to melt away as anger rose in her heart.

Silence.

“W-why…would he…why? Eremia demanded, her tone and demeanor becoming more fierce with every second that Aquila ignored her orders and kept himself quiet. Madeleine and Jonathan’s expressions hardened, but she ignored their aggressive stares.

After a few seconds, Aquila stared into her eyes with that same pleading expression that Alarick had given her a short time ago. She hated it. She hated these games, these half-truths, these secrets. And, worst of all, Eremia had the feeling that this was tame compared to the rest of the world. For all she knew, she was in a situation where everyone was more honest than they would otherwise be. It was still far from enough for her.

“Why.” she demanded as the Aquila’s eyes darted away from her fuming expression. “It is my home, and I want to know what my home has done to you.”

Aquila looked to both Madeleine and Jonathan for support, but they each nodded, expressions of firmness and hints of curiosity worming their way into existence. It was as though that each was saying, “She has to learn.” Now incredibly nervous, he fidgeted as he tried to explain. “He told me…told me that the stakes were…d-dire. That I needed to find you and your brother, or, o-on word from the King…the King and Queen…my life would be at risk…if I came back empty-handed.”

Eremia’s lips tightened and she scowled ferociously. Eremia stood up, pointing at Aquila. “I know that my parents would never be so callous and cruel. How dare you come to me and provide your excuses and lies. What is your intent, really? Did you decide you were bored with your country and ran off to go in search of adventure? Did you abandon -”

“That’s enough,” barked Madeleine as Jonathan rose and grabbed Eremia’s hand. She looked at him with surprise and rage as Aquila pushed his way towards the edge of the tent and curled up in a ball, shaking. “Take her away and help her set up camp. Until you can improve on your demeanor, Eremia, you will not see him until I explicitly say so. Good day.”

Jonathan, grim-faced, dragged Eremia away as Madeleine sat down beside Aquila and stroked his head. Eremia tried to resist, but his grip was incredibly strong, and a part of her was happy to leave that hovel. It left her too angry, too frustrated, and too confused. As he pulled her across the camp, she was hoping to be able to vent out her feelings. Maybe he would make the first move, try to chide her or act superior to her. Then she could start an argument or a fight, get rid of some steam, break free, and find Yorew to talk to. Unfortunately for her, he kept silent, never once commenting on her behavior despite the number of eyes that stared at the both of them as they passed. As far as she knew, he was waiting for her, and she felt it would stoop too low to start such a conflict herself without legitimate cause. So they stayed quiet.

The tent that had been set up for her was the customary brown-tarp one, with wooden pegs tamping it into the ground on four sides. A few colored quilts had been set up on the ground within, beside which was a tiny wooden drawer. The burned out husk of a campfire surrounded by stones lay in front of the space, and Jonathan gestured to it as Eremia let go and rubbed her wrist, glaring at him.

“You need to learn to make fire,” he explained, picking up a flint and stone from off the ground. “Without magic.” He set these down in front of her, as well as a bow drill. “And you need to chop wood.”

Eremia gasped as she tried to hold onto a large axe that he gave her, it immediately hitting the ground when she tried to pull it up. “And set up a tent,” Jonathan continued, gesturing to the tent pole within as he handed her a larger rock. “…place pegs with a rock or hammer…carry your belongings with a pack animal…” As Jonathan inspected the entire place and added to his list with each glance or moment of concentration, her dismay began to fade in favor of determination. “…ride a horse…dig a privy…get water…cook food over a fire…and be alert at all times.” He stopped and nodded to her as he gestured to a shovel, bucket, and cooking pot inside the tent. “We’ll train for most of today.”

Eremia looked at everything laid out before her and sighed. “Fine,” she said, staring at Jonathan with a steady spirit.

To her wonderment, he was bemused. “Terasu wasn’t like that,” he commented, laughing slightly (although, given his voice, it sounded raspy and painful). “She tried to burn me.”

“If what I can learn here makes me stronger,” she replied, “So be it. And whatever I don’t learn, I can pick up from Yorew.”

In response, Jonathan ran a hand through his hair, spilling dust onto the ground. “Maybe I should speak to him,” he said at last, now interested. “And be honest.”

“I am being honest!” Eremia snapped back, caught off guard by his remark. “I’m angry and frustrated! What kind of world have I stumbled into?”

“…that’s not it,” he said matter-of-factly, staring into her eyes as though her entire soul was splayed out behind them. “She was like that. She’s still like that. You’re confused. You don’t know what the truth is.”

“And where do you think I can find it!?” said Eremia as she successfully lifted up the axe, struggling to keep in the air for more than a few seconds.

He shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to stay and see. Ready for your first day?”