Birthright-The Technomage Archive (11 page)

“
He was trying…to kill me,” Ceril said. He blinked his eyes to clear away the tears that were welling up. “I just wanted him to stop pushing.”

Roman’s voice was still stern. “What happened, Ceril?”

Ceril told Roman everything that he could remember. The whole incident was a blur in his memory, but he did the best he could. By the end of it, Ceril was crying. “I was so scared, Roman,” he sobbed. “We were so high up, and…and…I didn’t mean to.”

“
I don’t think you did this on purpose, Ceril, but that doesn’t change the fact that Ethan Triggs is dead. You’re going to have to pay for murdering one of your peers.”

Ceril couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He said, “I didn't murder him, sir.”

“
Didn’t you? You just told me that you retaliated and Ethan died.”

“
It wasn't murder, sir. It was an accident.”

Roman said tersely, “I know. The issue, though, is that you did it at all. You killed Ethan. And that's murder, accidental or not.”

“
But…” Ceril started.

Roman waved one hand for Ceril to be silent, pressed the heel of his other hand into his temple, and rubbed. Ceril understood the gestures to mean his argument had been dismissed.

“
I DIDN'T MEAN TO!” the boy yelled, and as he spoke, he felt a weight appear in his hand. Light reflected on Roman, purplish green light. When Ceril looked down and realized that he was once again holding the sword his Flameblade. Immediately, he let it go.

The sword fell to the floor. The aura around the blade was just as bright as it had been in the headmaster's office over a year ago, when all this mess started. The glow was undimmed by the band of dried blood that made the tip of the gold blade seem like a capstone, and even dazed, Ceril noted that it was the first time he had ever seen the sword glow on its own, without him touching it.

Roman remained stoic, but his eyes never left the sword. When he spoke, his voice was calm, but stern. “Tomorrow morning, Ceril. Decide if you want to stay here or go back to Erlon. You will be escorted back to your quarters, where you will remain for the rest of the evening. I hate to do it, but I will seal the door as a precaution. If I hear that you even try to open that door tonight, there will be hell to pay. Am I understood?”

“
Yes, sir,” Ceril managed to say as he stared at the sword lying at his feet.

“
I suggest you take that with you.”

***

The next morning, Roman came to Ceril’s quarters. The door slid open, and Roman stepped into the room.

“
Are you going to stay on board my ship?” Roman asked.

Ceril sat up. He had been lying awake on his bed all night long. The Flameblade had rested beside him, glowing green and purple, the entire time. He squinted at Roman, and said simply, “Yes.”

“
Then you’re going to learn how to control that thing.” Roman pointed at the Flameblade on the bed. “It’s not a choice, and it’s not optional. If you’re going to stay on board the
Sigil
, you’re going to learn how to keep that thing out of the way—and out of people’s chests.”

That had been the entire discussion. Roman turned around and the door closed behind him.

Since then, any free time Ceril had was spent with Bryt, the small man who mentored the full-time soldiers and had taken on Ceril’s training personally. No other students on board the
Sigil
would take the chance that Ceril’s Flameblade would materialize in their chest. These training sessions were in addition to the interdisciplinary combat classes that each Charon Apprentice was required to pass. Ceril had despised them at first, but over the years, he had come to enjoy his one-on-one time with Bryt.

The first day after Ethan’s death, however, had not been enjoyable.

Ceril and the other Apprentices filed into a classroom, and Bryt stood in front, directing them to their assigned seats. The incoming class of Recruits had dwindled to twenty, which Roman had said was an astonishingly good rate of attrition. Of those twenty Apprentices, twelve of them were in Ceril’s combat class. Roman said it was supposed to help them understand “how the other side lives.”

Bryt gestured to empty seats behind two rows of tables as the students passed him on their way in. When he got to Ceril, the teacher put out his hand.

“
Mind waiting up here for a minute, Ceril?” Bryt asked. The small man smiled at Ceril, which made his stomach clench.

Ceril shrugged and stepped behind the professor to allow him to finish seating the other students. Ceril could feel them looking at him as he stood there. He started to fidget and sweat—he did not want to be there. All he wanted to do was curl up in his quarters and cry. After what had happened with Ethan the day before, he couldn’t believe that he was being forced to go to class. He hadn’t slept all night, either, but he was somehow full of nervous energy. It was sickening. He bounced up and down, trying to settle himself a little. It didn’t work.

As he bounced, though, he noticed that the floor was actually a mat of some kind. That made sense. This was a basic combat course, which also explained the extra space at the front of the class between the desks and the projection screen.

Once all the Recruits had been seated, Bryt said, “Good morning, Apprentices! Welcome to our first meeting of Interdisciplinary Combat. You’re here because you all had the poor judgment to choose a path other than soldier.”

Bryt gave the students a few seconds to whisper among themselves. Since Ceril was alone, he just thought what everyone else muttered:
Is this guy for real? What’s his problem?

Bryt smiled. “I’m kidding. Really. The soldier’s path is not for everyone, and I of all people know that. I began studying as a medic when I was where you are, but soon found out that I could handle blood and guts far more easily when they didn’t belong to people I knew and cared about.”

Ceril couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a joke. Judging from the looks on the rest of his classmates’ faces, they couldn’t either.

After that, Bryt continued talking. Ceril had a hard time catching more than a few words. From the way his back ached and eyes burned, he would have thought it had been months since he had slept, not just one night.

Killing someone will do that to you,
he thought. All night long, he had kept seeing the Flameblade kill Ethan Triggs over and over. He kept seeing the blood rushing out of the boy. And with every repeat, Ceril’s stomach churned harder. He began to sweat more, and Ceril could feel his clothes sticking to him.

Bryt continued to lecture without even acknowledging why he had asked Ceril to stand in front of the classroom, and on almost any other day, Ceril might have said something to Bryt.

But not after last night. After killing Ethan, he was afraid that if he so much as clipped his nails the wrong way—much less interrupt a professor’s lecture—he would be sent back home.

So he stood still and waited in front of the class. He tried to avoid eye contact with anyone who looked at him, while still doing what he could to listen to Bryt. He failed at all three tasks.

Ceril saw a hand shoot up from the first row. “Yes, Saryn?” Bryt said.

“
I was under the impression that our discipline choices were set. That once we made a decision, we were locked into that path.”

Bryt frowned and cocked his head to the side as he shrugged. “Maybe
locked in
is not the best choice of words, Saryn.” The small man walked down the aisle between desks toward the rear of the room. He leaned against the back wall. “While we certainly encourage students to make informed choices regarding their path of study and truly believe that the initial draw to a discipline is more than random happenstance, it would be incredibly unfair to everyone involved if, for instance, a truly inspired medic felt pulled toward soldiering when they were your age and found themselves unsuited for the profession.”

Half of the students had turned to look at Bryt while he was behind them. The others faced stiffly forward. He continued, “How many of you watched the assigned videos on the first night aboard the
Sigil
that outlined the roles and duties of the scholar, medic, and soldier?” Every hand in the room except for Ceril’s went up. If Bryt noticed the exception, he made no show of it. “Good,” he said. “And what made you all choose the disciplines that
were not
soldier?”

This time, no one raised a hand.

“
Oh, I'm not going to be mad. Like I said, I changed to soldier, myself. If anyone can understand why you wouldn’t want this job, it’s be me.”

The professor waited for someone to respond. He just leaned against the back wall, saying nothing, and watched a handful of students turn back to face the front of the classroom. Ceril fidgeted a little; the silence was a tad awkward. Finally, one of the boys in the back raised his hand. “Yes, Swinton?” Bryt said.

“
Being a soldier is dangerous,” said the boy. He was small—but not as small as Bryt—and his hair was disheveled. He wore thick glasses. He looked like someone Ethan Triggs would’ve
loved
to pick on.

“
I see,” Bryt said. “So what did you choose instead?”

“
Scholar, sir,” Swinton answered. Ceril vaguely recalled seeing him in some of his classes, but he couldn’t be sure.

“
Why the scholar?” Bryt asked him. “What made that role seem better than medic or soldier?”

“
Well, being a soldier just seemed hard, and being a medic put so much responsibility in my hands.” Swinton paused. “I don’t think I want people's lives depending on me. I've always done well in school. During Phase I, I did pretty well, so I just felt that scholar was close to, you know,
school.
”

Bryt nodded. “What about someone who chose medic?”

A girl raised her hand. Bryt gave her the floor. “Yes, Laura?”

“
Well, I want to help people, but I don't really think I can do that by shooting or cutting them up, or with my nose stuck in a book all day.”

“
Okay,” Bryt said, nodding. “Both are very admirable answers. Did anyone notice what they have in common?”

Saryn's hand went up.
Of course it did,
Ceril thought and suppressed a smile—the first one he’d really felt since last night. “Yes, Saryn?” Bryt said.

“
They both chose was based on emotion, not logic. They didn't weigh any pros or cons, they just went with their gut feelings.”

“
Very good, Saryn. That's just right. We Charons put a great deal of emphasis on instinct and emotion. We feel that we are all drawn to our roles for a reason, and we want to foster that. However,” Bryt said as he moved back toward the front of the room, “if anyone feels the need to switch paths—or even discuss the possibility—all you have to do is go to your current mentor, and tell them.”

The scholar students looked around at one another. They exchanged whispers and looked at Ceril. He felt very alone being in front of the class then, without anyone to confer with. No one else seemed like they were going to ask, so Ceril decided to take advantage of his situation and raised his hand.

“
Yes, Ceril?” Bryt said.

“
What if we don't have a mentor? Scholars have been under Roman for a while, but we were told he's not our mentor. What do we do?”

Bryt sat down at the desk that sat just off of the padded floor where Ceril stood. “I had been debating whether or not to discuss this with you, or if I should let Roman do the explaining.” The small man sighed and wrung his hands together. “You have a mentor already.”

“
Roman is just temporary, sir. We’ve never met our real mentor.”

“
I’m afraid you have, son. Your mentor, Jana Ketner, was expected back aboard the
Inkwell Sigil
weeks ago. We received word not long ago that Professor Ketner is not going to be joining us, after all.”

“
Why not, sir?” Saryn asked without raising her hand.

“
Professor Ketner died, Saryn. I don’t have any other details that I can share with you, but Roman will continue to serve as your mentor indefinitely.”

“
Was it the same people in the videos who killed all those folks with the Flameblades?” Ceril asked.

Bryt looked at Ceril and said, blankly, “Yes, Ceril. It was.”

No one in the room spoke. The terrorists who called themselves Charons were rarely, if ever, discussed by those on the
Sigil
. Ceril had put another mark on his back by bringing it up. If Bryt had disliked him because of what happened to Ethan, Bryt hated him now. The professor stood up from behind his desk and walked to Ceril's side.

After the awkward silence, the soldier trainer put his arm around Ceril’s shoulder. “Speaking of Flameblades, Ceril, you just brought us around to the point of today’s lesson.”

Oh, no
, Ceril thought.
No, no, no. No.
He tried to move away, but the teacher held him firmly in front of the class. Everyone’s eyes were staring at him, boring into him. He wanted to run, to get away. At least when Bryt was talking and pacing and moving around, it had seemed like no one had noticed he was up there. But at that very moment, everyone was just staring at Ceril, and he could feel himself begin to sweat as his cheeks flushed.

“
Charons,” Bryt said, “as a general rule, are able to form a unique bond—a symbiosis, a kind of partnership—with certain pieces of technology. One such piece of technology is called a Flameblade.” A low rumble of knowing
oh's
came from the students. “They are so called because of the glow they will sometimes emanate. This same technology provides the base by which the sword can bond with a single person. This bonding does not mean that only one person can
use
the sword—anyone can pick one up and slash away, cut off their hands, feet, or whatnot—but to bond with a Flameblade is to increase its power tenfold.”