Chapter 25
Anogwin has five moons: Luna (white), Menta (purple), Secca (green), Reva (red), and Pathis (blue). Each waxes and wanes at its own pace, and each phase is said to have some effect on the world, from enhanced fertility to being a good sign for revenge. These effects remain unproven, but many believe in them and act accordingly.
Day 156, Quenchenday
“Alright, Iver, let’s start with the basics. Who does the order follow?” Thallos quizzed, a riding crop in hand. He paced in front of me in what must have been his office.
The office was the size of Mystagogue Thrasher’s but decorated differently. I sat in an uncomfortable steel chair. To my left was a steel table with books between two onyx panther-head bookends. The wall above displayed a stuffed chimera head, a flame salamander head, and a dried kelpie hide. On the right wall was another table with more trophies: a dried troll hand, a manticore stinger, and massive spider fangs. On the wall behind it was a single wing that spanned the entire wall, likely from a thunderbird.
Thallos’s desk was carved from black marble. Flanking his black leather chair was a matching pair of cu sith heads below a pair of black shucks—omens of death. But the most terrifying presence was mounted above his chair: a manticore head, frozen in a snarl, its fangs the size of daggers.
I stared at that head, swearing I could see bloodlust in its glass eyes. I was snapped back to focus by the sting of a riding crop against my thigh.
“Ow!” I rubbed what would soon be a welt.
“Again, who does our order follow?”
“The Fractured Goddess,” I answered.
“Good. What are each of the fragments called?”
I tried to dredge up the memory. “Um, Her Fragment of the Birthing Forge, Her Fragment of the Warrior’s Eye, Her Fragment of the Whistling Phantom?” The third was a question. I was answered by another slap from the crop. I hissed in pain.
“Whispering Phantom. Continue. Two more.”
“Umm, Her Fragment of Beating Silence.”
THWAP! My cheek lit with fire as he struck me, sending my head turning. I tipped back in the chair, pinwheeling my arms. My descent stopped. I looked under the chair to find Thallos’s boot hooked into the support bar. He brought the chair back to standing with a jarring stomp.
He crossed his arms, leaning against his desk. “Come now, boy. I know you can do better. This is me going easy on you. It’s only going to get worse.”
“Worse?! How much worse?”
He shrugged. “Broken bones, dodging arrows and myst shots, plenty of endurance training. It’s gonna hurt, but it shouldn’t kill you.”
My face paled. I started second-guessing my choice.
He saw my face and gave a kind smile. “If it helps, I went through the same. Now, I’m not going to chop off your hand every time you fumble. But the punishment is training to get you used to pain and keep you on your mental toes.”
I gave an audible gulp.
He flashed the same smile. “I know you can do this. Now, one more time. Her Fragment of…”
I closed my eyes and took a centering breath. “Her Fragment of Beating Stillness.”
“Very good,” he said, tousling my hair. “Now, one more. What fragment do the mages follow?”
The answer jumped to my mind. I gave him a confident grin. “Fallen Lineage. Her Fragment of the Fallen Lineage.”
“Well done, kiddo,” he praised. “Now for the new material. Sharpen those ears and keep a lid on this.”
I nodded resolutely.
“Good. Let’s start with your sect’s name. You are a trainee of the Sect of the Dark Hunter. All members are Dark Hunters.”
I shook my head, mute with fascination.
“The title was originally given to a type of creature. When someone who dedicated their life to slaying evil was slain under specific conditions, they could return as this Restless Dead. The person had to be a leader, a skilled warrior or mage, slain by terrible evil on sacred land under a full blood-Luna moon, a full Reva moon, and a new Pathis moon. If met, they are raised by Revnerra, the Thayen goddess of death. Legend has it she descends on wings of shadow, rips out their heart, takes a bite, lacing it with Umbra and Death Myst, before laying it back. After three nights, the corpse rises as a Dark Hunter, living to hunt dark creatures. They only find rest if they kill their original killer in a specific ritual. Following?”
I nodded vigorously. Dark Hunters sounded awesome.
“Good. Now, on to how you and I are classified.”
“But Thallos,” I interjected, “what about the fragment? Shouldn’t I know who I’m devoting myself to?”
“A secret for later. For now, call her The Hollow Fragment and think of her as a dark defender.”
I nodded.
“Now, as I was saying. Single-sect members are Type Ones, the day-to-day workers. Mastloks are Type Twos, flexible and able to handle deviations from the norm.”
“I’m not sure I understand. Can you give examples?”
“Think of a Battle-Mage, a caster with warrior skills. Or a spy with assassin skills sent for a long-term infiltration ending in a murder meant to look like an accident. If you can think of a problem, there’s usually a Mastlok for the job.”
“That makes sense. But where do we fit in?”
“That, my boy, makes us Type Threes. When a job is too dangerous for any one man, when a group is needed but only one can be sent, that’s where we come in. Dark Hunters are sent on missions deemed impossible. We can’t just be members of each sect; we must master each. We are the spies clearing a room of targets while hiding among them. We are the casters who become another person and leave as the sole survivor, even as we burn down the compound.”
With every line, my eyes grew wider. He made it sound like I could become the kind of hero holo-movies portrayed.
“Good. I can see you want that. That is what I will shape you to be. The road will be hard and bloody, but you can reach that goal.”
I leaned forward, my eyes shining with eagerness.
Thallos jumped into his chair and planted his foot on the desk. He pointed at me. “Are you ready for the hell I will put you through? Are you ready to be forged in the flames of the deepest hells to become a blade that shall pierce the heavens?”
I nodded vigorously. “Yes, Uncle. I am ready to become a legend.”
He jumped down and tussled my hair before lifting my chin. His expression showed how much faith he had in me. “Very good. Your father would be proud. This will test you, body, mind, soul, and heart. Are you ready?”
I locked eyes with him and gave a single nod.
“Good. Now, let’s begin the real training. Get ready to shed blood.”
“What is the classification of Mage that uses an Evvetane Convergence Gauntlet as a focus?” Thallos demanded.
“W-Wizard,” I stammered.
CRACK! “DAMN IT!” I howled as the whip struck my thigh. The jar on my head wobbled, ready to join its shattered comrades on the floor among volatile myst crystals. Sixteen lashes marked my flesh. I stood on one foot atop a steel vase, banned from using my hands. My legs were cut from falling onto razor glass shards.
“WRONG!” Thallos snapped. “The answer is Elementalist. Can an Elementalist use any Duality Elements?”
“No,” I grunted.
“Good. Now, what are the key materials to craft an Elementalist focus?”
“Uhhh… Zallerrum, Mirrorloom Coesite, and… one of those weird Diskorn Opal things?”
“Correct,” he praised, even as he wrapped the whip for another strike. “But you missed one. Tarterren Crystal.” He struck again. “Tarterren Crystals are natural magical glass that syncs with a holder’s intent for mental commands. Where are they mined?”
“The Ferborne Mountains.”
“WRONG!” he snapped with another crack of the whip, carving a furrow through my left cheek. I cringed, and the jar tumbled, shattering. I stepped off the vase, picked up another, placed it on my head, and stepped back up, bracing it against my horns.
“The location is the Tarterren Mountains,” he corrected. “Topic change. The Tuatha first crafted the Elves on Anogwin. Where did they originate and return to?”
That was easy. “Tier Nog, the Fae Wilderness.”
“Good.” He tossed me a hard candy. I tried to catch it with my mouth and missed. I growled.
“Now, what was the next species to join Anogwin after the Elves?”
“A trick question, Uncle,” I accused.
“Oh, yeah? What’s the answer?”
I sighed. “Technically, the Orcs, but they were designed by the Primordials. Dwarves were next, but almost a millennium later, so they are considered the next Sophic Species.”
“And why the debate?”
“The Orcs were designed as slave labor and thought a lesser species until they earned independence during the Bloody Tusk Rebellion.”
“Well done. Now, what is the name of the emergence of the Dwarven species?”
“The Birth from Stone,” I answered confidently.
“Close. Half credit. The Birth from Stone and Mud.” He pulled a walnut from his pocket and hurled it at me. If I failed to catch it, he would shift to shooting myst shots. I shifted my head and caught it in my left hand as I caught the jar with my right.
I popped the nut in my mouth and recentered the jar.
“Now, boy, what are the breeds of Dwarf?”
“Oh, dreck. Mountain, Hill, Plains, and Canyon?”
“And Gem Dwarves?”
“A genetic mutation from overexposure to a specific type of Earth Myst.”
“Correct!” He threw me another hard candy. I managed to catch it, but the jar wobbled and crashed. I cursed at the field of hungry glass.
“Op! You dropped a jar. Time for a shatter round!” Thallos sounded disturbingly excited. He dropped his normal whip and picked up a cat-o’-nine-tails, each of its nine whips ending in a vicious hook. He flicked it, and the tails wrapped around my neck, forming a makeshift noose. He tugged, tightening it until I could barely breathe.
“In a few words, tell me how the Dwarven clans differentiate themselves.”
I had to think quickly. The smell of the cord reminded me of beads in braids. My father’s Dwarven friend had them. That was it!
“Braid number and styles,” I half-gagged.
“Very good!” he praised, twitching his wrist to detach the hooks.
“Please, Uncle Thallos, it’s almost midnight. I’m so tired. Can I please go to bed?” I pleaded.
He pinched his chin. “Well, tomorrow you do have class with Master Neckar. I guess I can let you go. But realize that not every day will be as easy as today.”
As I left for my dorm, I fortified my resolve. The first day was hard, and I hated it. But Thallos set a goal. If he thought today was easy, I was in for one hell of a trial.
As I flopped into bed, bloody, raw, and sore, I focused on what I could become. I wouldn’t just find my father’s killer; I would make him proud. Hells, I might even hunt down my mother and solve the mysteries of the black box. I drifted off, clinging to those dreams. A reason to continue. A reason to become more.
