Gift of Gold (The Year of Churning Bloods) (3 page)

              Yet suddenly there was nothing more to pursue. The filthy plaza that greeted me contained nothing of any importance. Not a sound, nor a single speck of anything out of the ordinary. It was so stunning, I didn’t even notice I had walked straight into an elder going in the opposite direction. The impact was no more than a light graze on his shoulder, however this particular elder stared at me as though I had just assaulted him. Without even saying a single word, he grabbed me by the scruff of my collar, and threw me against the wall, preparing to strike.

“The boy is with me,” a strained voice said calmly. The angular elder suddenly materialized by my side and made a motion that suggested we had somewhere to go. The other elder scoffed at his words but threw me to the ground before storming off at double his original pace. The angular elder took me by the wrist and lead me off in a random direction. I soon noticed that we were heading in the direction of the school, which like most things in the camp, was surrounded by a wall.

“What are we doing here?” I wondered to myself. “Ickle-bits can’t enter the school.” Instead of going through the large gates and into the main school building, the elder lead me along the wall for another couple of minutes before stopping and looking at one brick in particular. I looked at it as well and saw that there was a small keyhole. The elder quickly unlocked it and stood back as a small wooden door melted into place. I gasped and stared up at him but he only smiled and led me through with a polite nod of his head.

The musty fragrance of leather bound books encased the office into a relaxing coma. Everywhere I looked, it seemed one book or another was stuck out in odd places, protruding from anywhere they could fit. With great effort, a stone fireplace squeezed its way through the barrier of books, announcing its presence with its loud cackling and warmth. The only area that didn’t seem to be swallowed by the mounds of text was a handsome desk which lounged beneath a fine set of windows.

“Sit,” the man commanded while producing two chairs by his desk. Deep eyes bored into me as I carried out his instruction, watching me with the intensity that I assumed a reader read with. My fingers curled around the strip of wood in my pocket.

“You dropped this sir,” I told him, gently laying the strip down on his desk. The elder stared at me in amazement as his jaw hung slack in wonder. For a while, it seemed all that he would do was stare.

“You ran all this way, despite not knowing where I was going,” he remarked while examining the thin strip of wood with intense care. “You ran all this way despite not knowing who I am.” I bit my lip and looked away sheepishly. “You ran all this way just because you wanted to do the right thing,” he concluded, looking at me for my response. I nodded slightly and after that the most amazing thing happened: The elder began to laugh. It wasn’t a bad laugh though. It didn’t make me feel ashamed or hurt. I didn’t know what it made me feel, cause I never heard anything like it before.

              “My name is Professor Wenchenberg,” he said in jovial greeting. “I think that we are going to be very good friends.” I flinched suddenly and instinctively moved back in my seat.

              “What makes you say that?” I asked nervously. Professor Wenchenberg shrugged and laced his fingers together on his lap.

              “I like to be friends with honest people,” he stated simply.

              “But... You’re an elder.” I said while pointing stupidly. “Elders can’t be friends with Ickle-bits.”

              “Why not?” Wenchenberg asked, thoughtfully stroking his chin. I opened my mouth to respond but suddenly stopped as I realized he had a point. I reconsidered for another moment before finally coming up with an answer.

              “It’s just not... I mean... Ickle-bits and elders are very different,” I stammered weakly. “People wouldn’t let us be friends.”

              “No one has to know that we’re friends,” Wenchenberg countered quickly. I scrunched up my face and scratched my head uncertainty.

              “Why do you even want to be friends with me?” I asked defensively.

              “I like to be friends with honest people,” Professor Wenchenberg repeated. He looked at me quizzically and then sighed a little. “I can tell that you still don’t believe me,” He clicked his fingers and suddenly brightened. “I know!” he declared before rummaging through one of his desk drawers. He removed a small metal key before setting it in front of me. “This is the spare key that unlocks the secret entrance to my office; the one that we entered through,” he explained slowly. “Normally you’d have to go through the school to get here but with this, you can come in anytime you want.”

              “You’re giving it to me?” I asked breathlessly.

              “I am!” He said. “In fact, why don’t you come back at seven o’clock tomorrow evening to share a bit of tea with me?” So I did.

Professor Wenchenberg offered me a certain security that couldn’t be provided by anyone or anything else in The Clog. Every day from that day forth, I would enter his office in the evening and help him organize, arrange and dust his expansive library. For the first few days nothing in particular happened, save for the cups of boiling hot tea which I would always accept. On the fourteenth day though, something extraordinary happened.

              Professor Wenchenberg began speaking out loud, without addressing me, or even acknowledging my existence. Being too timid to do anything, I politely pretended I wasn’t there and instead focused on the chores. After a few seconds though, I couldn’t help but listen to the story that Professor Wenchenberg told me.

             
“In the world we live in today, we often question what the biggest and the best are. It is in our human nature that we seek such things, because we strive to be the best. This story tells us not only about the the most powerful artifacts known to man, but of the origin of all sorcery. (that is to say, both magic and anti-magic)

              In a time, very... Very... Very long ago, there were six gods. Iramare, Vigordia, Luxx, Jin, Nulbak, and Their leader; Dormtok.

              Dormtok didn’t have many godly abilities, and was not skilled in magic. However, he had a mind that none of the other gods could hope to match, and a fantastic skill for making things. It was because of this that the gods admired him and even agreed to let him lead despite being the weakest. Dormtok admired the gods too and even planned on presenting them with his craft. For each of them, he made an artifact which he intended the gods to carry alongside them as they ruled over their newly created human race. Five objects of immense power for five gods: A pendant, a poker a pocket a pebble and a pan.

For a while it seemed as though everything was going to be just fine, however something went wrong. The gods, now more powerful than ever, gradually grew further apart from their leader, who tried in vain to win back their hearts. Dormtok couldn’t understand why it was the other gods were more interested in their creations then they were in him. He began to detest the mortals and their unique intelligence that was not so far off from his own.

              Grieved with delusional thoughts, Dormtok took the cleverest of the mortals and killed them, desperate to be the wisest creature in existence.  The other considerably kinder gods were devastated by this loss, and exiled Dormtok for his wickedness. Dormtok; embarrassed, confused, and outraged, reluctantly set off for the mortal world, and from that day forward, vowed to rule as lord of malice, chaos and distruction.

Stealing the artifacts he created, he annihilated the gods one by one, detaching them into a fine white dust, intending to rule all of mankind as a twisted and corrupted leader. However there was one crucial flaw in Dormtok’s plan, and that was he forgot to dispose of the gods ashes.

Slowly, their remains found their way into the mortal world, and were spread all across the land where man and women alike breathed their essence. The ash, unbeknownst to the humans was said to grant abilities similar to the gods, and it was through this that the gods unintentionally gave the humans both the five variations of magic and anti-magic.

             
Kinetic, Distortion, Aquia, Flame, and Blood.

              Each variation with their own terrifying potential, and with their own strengths and weaknesses. Those with magic became known as mages, and those with anti-magic became known as warlocks. In a small period of time, an entire army of mages and warlocks formed to vanquish Dormmtok. After many years of difficult battles, and many people lost, they succeeded in turning him to dust much like the other gods. The leaders of each respective field of magic claimed one of the artifacts Dormmtok had made, and hid them in the hopes that no one should ever misuse them again.”

“
To be able to read is a treasure onto itself, no?” I flinched when I realized Professor Wenchenberg was no longer reading out loud, and I politely bobbed my head in response. “I’m glad you think so. That’s why I’ve decided I’m going to teach you how to read,” the professor imposed grandly. The book I was dusting tumbled dramatically to the ground as my grip went slack.

              “What makes you think I should read sir?” I asked while scooping down to pick up the heavy text. Professor Wenchenberg looked aghast.

              “Jacob when you read, you can learn about all the things you need to know about the world without violence, or fear of being decapitated. Books are the windows to worlds known and unknown, and its because of this that I try to keep as many as possible,” the professor concluded proudly.

Because of that man, I learned to read and read I did. When I became good enough, I even wrote a story.
This story
, which is about friends, love, as well as
that one time I found
a
way out.