Thornbear (Book 1) (8 page)

“I like to talk,” she said sincerely, “but I will try to be more straightforward with you.”

“It’s alright,” he told her. “Just ask me what you want to know.”

“What’s Matthew working on?”

“Are
you
asking, or are you asking for Moira?”

“For myself,” she said promptly. “I’m just curious. I won’t betray your confidence.”

He gave her a long stare. “It’s something private, and it’s important to me.”

“Fair enough.”

“I have a question for you, though,” he said then.

Grace perked up, “Certainly.”

“Why are you so interested in me?”

A dozen replies ran through the magical construct’s mind, but she discarded them all. They were facetious stories, artful lies. She knew he wouldn’t accept them. If she was going to continue talking to him, she would have to be forthright, even if it was painful. “Loneliness,” she said simply. “Not many people are kind enough to talk to me, or take me seriously.”

Gram started to interject, but she rushed to finish, “No, wait. I’m not speaking ill of anyone, but Moira only has so many hours in the day. She spends a lot of time with me, but the rest of the time I really have no one to converse with. People tend to ignore me, or avoid me when they think I may be spying on my mistress’ behalf.”

He mulled her words over for a minute, “You don’t have any friends.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Just Moira,” she answered.

“How about me?” he asked.

Her button eyes were incapable of tears, but emotion swept over her nonetheless. Gently she hugged his neck. “Thank you,” she said. “That’s two then; you, and Moira.”

She dropped from his shoulder and left him at the next doorway, waving a simple good-bye.

The rest of his day was uneventful, though he looked forward to seeing Cyhan that afternoon. Unfortunately, his ‘training’ consisted of more of the same treatment as the day before. Sit, be still, don’t talk. He felt certain he would go mad before they were done.

Chapter 7

Gram sat in his customary place at the high table for dinner that evening, which was beside Matthew and Conall at the right end of the table. The high table itself was quite long, over twenty feet, and Rose Thornbear sat near the center beside the Countess, Penelope Illeniel. Consequently, he didn’t have to worry about making conversation with his mother.

“Have you thought about my plan?” asked Matthew in a conspiratorial tone.

“No.”

Matthew sighed, “I’m almost finished with the diagramming, but I can’t start on the actual work until we get it.”

“Mother isn’t really happy with me right now, Matt,” began Gram. “This isn’t a good time to piss her off even more.”

“There’s never going to be a good time,” said the young wizard. “Besides, she won’t even know.”

“Can’t you just make a new sword?”

Matthew blinked, surprised at the suggestion. “I could, but that’s not the point.”

“What sword?” whispered Conall, enthusiastically leaning toward Gram.

Gram looked at the younger boy, unsure what to say, “Uhh…”

Matthew leaned in front of him, “Mind your own business, turd-burglar. It’s one of
my
projects, so dust off.”

Conall made a face before answering in a high pitched voice, “It’s one of my projects!”

Gram was still reviewing the previous remarks, “Turd-burglar?”

“He’s always stealing my stuff,” said Matthew, by way of explanation.

“What project?” asked Moira innocently, leaning in from across the table.

“None of yours,” warned Matthew. “I was just telling the turd-burglar to stay out of my things.”

“You better stop calling me that!” growled Conall.

“Turd-burglar,” said Gram again, talking to himself. “That doesn’t make much sense.”

Matthew glared at his brother, “Or what? You’ll tell Mom? You’re such a little snitch.”

“Stop it, Matt!” said Moira, raising her voice. “You don’t have to be so mean.”

Gram had an epiphany just as Moira was threatening her brother, “Oh, I see, turd-burglar, you mean because he’s always stealing your
shit!
” He said it with a half laugh and some emphasis on the last word. Unfortunately, everyone had fallen silent as Moira finished her admonishment.

The entire table glanced at Gram as he gleefully pronounced the word ‘shit’.

Rose watched as her son turned crimson, but Gram refused to meet her eyes.

***

She was waiting for him when he returned to the family apartment that evening. “Gram.”

His mother’s voice startled him. He had been expecting it, but he had somehow hoped that she would let the conversation go for a few more days before she forced it.

“Yes, Mother,” he answered dutifully, standing a bit straighter. He kept himself stiff, almost as though he were a soldier standing at attention.

“Please, Son, I need to tell you a few things. Don’t be so…” she didn’t quite finish with ‘formal’ before he interrupted.

“I’m sorry, Mother. Please forgive me,” interjected her son. He didn’t meet her eyes, but he couldn’t help noticing that she seemed tired, perhaps even worn. It wasn’t something he expected to see.

She shook her head, “No, Gram, that isn’t what I wanted…”

“I know I was wrong, Mother. I apologize,” he responded curtly. He was angry again, though he couldn’t name the reason. He hoped that by capitulating immediately she would keep the lecture short and let him take his rest.

Rose sighed.
He’s so impatient and so angry,
she thought.
Have I been so cruel to my son?
“I’m leaving for the capital,” she said, moving to the heart of the matter before he could rush the conversation further.

That brought her son up short. Gram stared at her, questions in his eyes.

“The Queen needs me, and there are matters that I have put aside for too long. I will be gone for an extended period,” she told him.

“How long?” he asked.

“Six months at least,” she responded, “but thanks to the World Road I will be able to visit regularly without too much trouble. The question is whether you wish to come with me or stay here.”

He found himself studying the stones beneath his feet, in the rare spots where they weren’t covered by soft rugs. “What about Carissa?” His sister was nine now and already in bed, but she was the first thing to spring to mind.

“I considered leaving her here, under the Countess’ care, but I dislike the thought of being separated from her for so long,” admitted Rose. “I will take her with me, but you’re of an age to decide for yourself. What would you rather do?”

Something in her eyes made him hesitate. Her voice was calm, but he could see a hidden sadness in her features. She hoped he would choose to go with them, but there was nothing he wanted less. He also wanted to see where Cyhan’s training would lead.

“My friends are here…”

She nodded, dipping her head, as if in acquiescence of some defeat. “I understand, Gram.”

“I’ve been before,” he added, struggling with a feeling of guilt.

She rose and stepped closer, “It’s alright, Son. I really do understand. I was young once, hard as it may be to believe. There are things for you to learn in Albamarl, but there may be more important priorities for you here.”

He stiffened for a second. Did she know about his training with Cyhan?

Rose put her arms around her son.

He hugged her back, feeling his anger drain away, to be replaced with an unnamed sadness. She felt small, fragile. Though she was tall for a woman, she now had to tilt her head to hug him. For most of his life she had towered over him, powerful, strong, and infallible. He had seen respect, admiration, and sometimes fear in everyone she interacted with, but now he saw her in a new light. For a moment she was just a small, frail, human being.

The revelation shook the foundation of his being. For the first time, he knew the deeper existential fear that every person gains as they begin to face adulthood. “I’m sorry, Momma,” he told her, wishing then that he could give up his new knowledge. He didn’t want to grow up. Not if it meant he had to live in a world where she was mortal, fallible… vulnerable.

“What’s wrong?”

It was Carissa’s voice. She stood in the doorway, watching them with worried eyes.

“Come here,” said Rose, opening her arms to welcome her daughter to join them. She held both her children for a while, and then she explained to Carissa that her brother would be staying in Cameron without them.

***

The next day was quiet. His mother and sister were occupied with their packing, though she didn’t plan to leave for another two days. Matthew was still busy with his preparations, so much so that Gram couldn’t even find him to tell him that stealing the sword hilt would be easy…assuming that his mother didn’t take it with her.

He spent a couple of hours riding, simply to ease his boredom. He didn’t look forward to his training that afternoon, since the only thing he ever got to do was sit still and learn to enjoy being bitten by insects.

Cyhan led him to the same place after lunch. He gestured to the same spot with a long slender rod. No explanation was necessary. Gram sat and grew still.

This was his third day of sitting. He had learned from his first experience to make sure he took a comfortable position in the beginning, since he wouldn’t be permitted to shift about or adjust his seating. Cross-legged seemed to work best, but his ass would still go numb. He knew that when he was allowed to stand later, his legs would throb, and his knees would scream. The ache his lower back would acquire wasn’t anything to sneer at either. They were unfamiliar sensations for someone of his age.

There’s some trick to this,
he thought as the first hour drew to a close.
Maybe he’s waiting for me to protest, to refuse to sit any longer. He can’t seriously want to spend four or five hours watching me sit here silently.
He couldn’t see his teacher, but he knew Cyhan was there, standing behind him, somewhere beyond the edge of his peripheral vision.

Maybe I’m failing by sitting here. Maybe I’m supposed to refuse, to show my determination.

He tried to stand, feeling his legs falter from lack of blood flow, then he fell reeling, a sharp pain blossoming across his lower back. Rolling over he saw his mentor standing there, rod in hand.

He hit me!

Adrenaline surged through him, and despite the numbness and tingling, he surged to his feet. The energy that Matthew had given him had faded over the past two days, but he still felt uncommonly fast. “Stop,” he ordered his teacher.

The older man watched him with dead eyes and then moved to the right. Gram flinched, preparing to dodge the next strike, but he only succeeded in putting himself in the path of the next blow, which came from his right. This one was to the side of his head.

“Sit,” commanded Cyhan.

“What is wrong with…” began Gram, but a new blow caught him on the back of the neck and the pain stole the words from his lips. He lost his temper then, feeling his blood begin to rage. He leapt up again and moved to one side, hoping to gain enough ground to escape his tormentor’s strikes until he could gather his wits.

Two more blows sent him to the ground, and he felt blood trickling down from his scalp. Before he could recover, he felt the tip of the rod against his throat. “Stay down, boy. Don’t even think of baring your teeth at me.”

Gram swallowed, looking up at the warrior from the corner of his eye. He was face down on the ground, and he could taste dirt and blood in his mouth. He opened his mouth to speak but paused when he felt the pressure on his throat increase.

“I haven’t given you permission to speak.”

Gram froze, closing his mouth. Something in his teacher’s voice told him he would regret it if he chose to rebel any further.
He wouldn’t kill me,
said his rational mind, but his gut was telling him something entirely different.

“Take your position; sit and be silent.”

He did as he was told, not even daring to wipe the blood from his face as it dripped into one eye.

“Today was your first mistake, so I will give you some advice. Stop thinking. This isn’t a game or a riddle. I’m not waiting for you to figure out some hidden meaning. I’m not here to teach you to think.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon repeating the same lesson from the two previous days. The blood on Gram’s face dried and cracked, making his face itch even more than before. At some point close to the end of their usual period, his teacher spoke again.

“You may ask me questions now.”

“Why do you want me to be still?” asked Gram.

The wooden rod in Cyhan’s hand twitched, rising. “Have you forgotten your first instruction?”

The younger man felt a cold chill. “Zaihair!” he blurted out.

The other man nodded, “Repeat your question.”

“Why do you want me to be still, Zaihair?”

“Because you needed to learn,” said the old knight. “Find a better question.”

He had spent most of the afternoon doing nothing else. Sorting through them quickly, Gram picked another, “I’ve seen you training knights in the castle yard, Zaihair, but I have never seen you make them do this. Why are you making me sit when they don’t?”

“Better,” said Cyhan. “I am teaching you more than how to wield a sword, or wear armor. I owe a debt to your father, and I have no son of my own, so I intend to teach you Z
an-zei
. The first step is learning stillness.”

“What is ‘zan-z-eye’?” asked Gram, pronouncing the word as carefully as he could.

“It means, ‘the unnamed path’,” explained Cyhan. “One more question, and then we are done for today.”

I have a hundred questions!
Gram thought furiously before settling on one, “How will sitting still make me a better fighter, Zaihair?”

“Stillness alone will not do anything for you, but you must learn it before you can understand movement,” began his teacher. “Silence, of the body and mind, will make you aware of the world. When you become completely still, your body will vanish, only then can you observe your opponent, become your opponent. To do that, you must defeat yourself first.”