Gift of Gold (The Year of Churning Bloods) (26 page)

Magmots can be recognized by their distinctive yellow red glow, similar to but not identical to gold when being melted. They have a number of ridges along their sides, which can expand and contract to help them move around. Magmots who take the appearance of a deep dark blue are in the process of maturing to their next form, and are not to be mistaken for dead. (A dead magmot is grainy grey.) There is no surefire way of killing a magmot. Water only aggravate them, and very rarely completely cools them off. Any attempt to pound or smash a magmot may result in serious injury, even if successful. The best known and most effective method of magmot extermination is to gather large rocks, and throw them from afar into the magmot den, hoping to crush them all safely.”

              “And these things could be in the qualifying round?” I wondered, suddenly feeling faint.

              “Mortal, they’re smaller than you think, and no smarter than your average human being. They can’t even see or hear! Why’re you scared of them?”

              “They spray lava,” I replied seriously. “That’s a pretty good reason to be scared.”

              “Look, you don’t even know for sure that they’ll be in this competition, just calm down,” Umber said, groaning impatiently.”

              “How many do you think I’m going to have to kill?” I asked, my heart racing into my throat. “I could probably do one or two, but what if I’m up against a hundred?”

              “You know what? Fine. Don’t compete in this competition. See what your professor thinks of that,” Umber said, looking to Wenchenberg.

              “I hate you so much some days,” I stammered, raising a quivering fist in his direction.

              “Hey now I haven’t done anything,” Umber said, stifling a mean laugh. “Your professor’s making you do this, not me!”

              “He’s not making me do this,” I said through clenched teeth. “Besides, I’ve already agreed to his plan. I have to carry it out.”

              “He’s playing you like an instrument and you don’t even know.” Umber warned as I flopped the book shut.

              I ignored him and walked over to the professor. “Sir, is this mine to keep?” I asked over his shoulder. “Sir?” I repeated, edging up to his side. I leaned down, suddenly unsettled but sighed in relief when I heard him exhale. I threw another log in the fire and walked out of the room.

             
Chapter ten

The Pit of Fire

The rich man pleases

counterfeited breezes

as he holds aloft a large paper fan.

Yet he’s never felt the real

one sandy summer wind,

which as far as he thinks is sin

“
Wake up,” Umber insisted one morning

“What is it?” I grumbled keeping my eyes locked shut.

“How do you kill a Kaffkun?”

“What?” I asked, turning over to look at my pendulum clock. The hour hand was just scraping one.

“You heard me. How do you kill a Kaffkun?” Umber hissed.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I asked pressing a hand into my aching forehead.

“Well, because you ought to know shouldn’t you? How do you kill a Kaffkun?”

“No. I mean, I thought you didn’t want me to study. Why did you wake me up so damn early if you’re just going to ask stupid questions?”

“Well you didn’t even answer the first question,” Umber replied brightly. “Do you need me to repeat it again?”

“No,” I groaned. “You kill a Kaffkun by holding it underwater.”

“Good! Now how do you tell which part of the Vompolo is poisonous?”

“This is your way at getting back at me for skipping meals in the library... Isn’t it?” I realized suddenly.

“Yes!” Umber responded, looking so pleased with himself that I thought he might pop. “Now, do you need me to repeat the question?”

“No,” I growled “No, I’m just... Fine...”

***

I was surprisingly calm on the morning of the qualifications. Where others were pacing around the dining hall with their noses pressed in books, I was picking at my breakfast and staring at my reflection with a dirty spoon. I looked up briefly at the crowd of people crammed in at the back and sighed. It hadn’t gotten any smaller since I last looked up five minutes ago.

“
I don’t understand why they wrote out only one timetable when nearly everyone’s entered,” Umber said, floating from one shoulder to the other.

“I know. It’s stupid,” I agreed, reluctantly scooping up a pile of grainy porridge. “Hopefully it will thin out after breakfast.”

True to his character, Preston came out of nowhere and took a seat beside me without saying a word.

I smiled and said good morning but he didn’t respond. “What’s the matter?” I asked, setting down my spoon to properly look at him.

“You didn’t tell me you were competing,” Preston said under his breath.

I bit my lip and tilted my head to one side. This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have at that moment. “Well, I didn’t want you to worry,” I said, breaking eye contact to take a drink of water.

              “Why did you decide to enter?” he asked, struggling to remain calm.

              “Huh? I just... Wanted to enter.”

              “You just wanted to enter. You,” Preston repeated in disbelief.

              “Yes. I wanted to enter, so I did,” I declared, straightening my back up and nodding sharply.

              “But why did you want to enter?”

              “Look, Preston.” I said, starting to get angry as well. “Can we just talk about something else? I’ve got a lot to think about, and this isn’t helping.”

              “What, me being scared for you?” Preston hissed. “You can’t do this Jacob, you have to pull out!”

              “I can’t,” I blurted before I could help myself.

              “What do you mean you can’t?” Preston asked, folding his arms.

              I shushed him and tried to go back to eating my breakfast but Preston was having none of it.

              “Why can’t you quit? Anyone can quit! What have you gotten yourself into now?”

              I closed my eyes and leaned back in my seat. When I spoke, I kept them shut. “Look, chances are I won’t even get past the first round. There’s no need for you to worry so much.

              “I can’t believe my best friend’s lying to me,” Preston said, sounding more amazed than hurt.

              “Don’t say that,” I moaned.

              “Oh but you are lying,” he responded. “You’re lying straight to my face and do you wanna know something Jacob? You’re doing a really crappy job.”

              “Alright. Fine.” I said, slaming my hands down on the table. Fortunately for me, the dining hall was so chaotic that nobody noticed. “You wanna know why I entered? It’s because of the three wishes.” I held up my fingers as if Preston somehow didn’t understand. “If I win, I’m gonna wish the concentration camp free.”

              “Really Jacob? Really?” Preston asked, looking anything but proud. “You’re going to politely ask the king to stop his own army?”

              “King Esterjay is bound to these wishes by blood.” I whispered at an almost frantic speed. “If I win, he does what I say.”

              Preston paused and slowly uncoiled his arms from his chest “How do you know that?” he asked  quietly?

              “Professor Wenchenberg told me,” I stammered in response.

              “So this wasn’t your idea,” Preston continued, straightening up a little more.

              I raised a finger in protest but stopped myself. “Alright fine. It was all Professor Wenchenberg. You’re terrible, you know that right?”

              Preston laughed before immediately reaching up to cover his mouth. I smiled a little, quietly relieved I was able to calm him down a little. “I’m still mad at you,” he insisted, angrily launching into his breakfast to prove his point.

“I don’t blame you.” I said, automatically looking back at the large crowd. It could have been my imagination, but it looked like it was getting bigger.

“You’ll be competing in the Winston classroom at 12:00. I checked,” Preston said, absentmindedly picking at his food.

“Why are they using classrooms?”

“Probably because it saves time,” Preston said, gradually trailing off. “Why does the king want a Grimlar trainee to do all of this? Why not send out some of his more experienced fighters?”

“I was just asking myself the same thing,” I admitted sadly. “Professor Wenchenberg thinks the king could be mad.”

“The King has scribes, nobles and wise men who all help him make his decisions. Not all of them can be completely mad,” Preston said, his mouth full of eggs.

“So, there’s got to be another reason for having this thing,” I concluded somberly.

              Preston nodded before dabbing the corners of his mouth with a well pressed napkin. “I wouldn’t worry about it Jacob. Just get through today alright?”

              “Will you show me where the Winston classroom is?” I asked hesitantly.

              Preston nodded absentmindedly, quickly finished his breakfast and lead me into the hallways without another word. After a few minutes of walking, we eventually came to a secluded corridor packed with nothing but nervous trainees. Fortunately, Preston and I were largely ignored as we took a seat against a small bit of open wall.

Almost immediately after sitting, an elder emerged from the classroom, squinting down at his scroll.

“David Arkoski.” he read in a hoarse voice.

A large headed trainee near the door seized up and awkwardly saluted. All eyes turned towards him as he stumbled out of the light and in through the passage. The elder sniffed, entered and closed the door behind him. The silence that followed in the next five minutes was terrifying. Everyone strained to hear past the door. Eventually, the trainee stumbled out looking shocked and very near tears. Much to my relief he appeared completely uninjured. After nearly three steps out of the classroom, he was ambushed by some larger trainee boys all demanding to know what had happened. Before he could so much as peep, the elder from before stormed out and began to loudly insist that under no circumstances should the competition be talked about outside the classroom. Straightening his robes proudly, the elder glanced at his scroll a second time and read out another name.

This entire process was repeated again and again. Out of anxiety, I tried to distract myself by keeping track of the competitor's names however I found I had lost myself after only four.

“Jacob Ofpacis,” The elder eventually announced with sleepy boredom.

I looked around, quietly hoping he had simply gotten the wrong name.

“Yes, you. The one looking around. If you’re Jacob, get inside now,”he demanded sharply. “Haven’t got all day,” he added as I slowly picked myself off the floor.

Speeding up my movements, I tried not to tremble as I felt my legs glide me through the door. The Winston classroom could have been quite a bright and cheery place, had the area not been smothered in thick red velvet curtains. From the dimly lit area, I could just make out a massive metallic half dome in the middle of the room, along with three towering thrones pressed against the back wall. Each of these were cradling a frail looking elder, who were talking to themselves with conversational whispers.