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Previous Chapter: ENDLESS Chapter 18: Family

Next Chapter: ENDLESS Chapter 20: Encounters

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CHAPTER 19: LESSONS

When Malia woke up, it took her a few moments to understand where she was. She had no recollection of getting into bed; there was a blanket over her, and her hair was tied into a tidy braid. She sat up and spotted Gorken washing his face to the light of a candle in front of an aged mirror.

“Sorry,” he noticed her, “did I wake you?”

She shook her head, “It was your turn to sleep on the bed.”

“Was it? I forgot.”

She ignored his lie, “Why are you up so early?”

“Kitchen duty.” Gorken set aside the basin he was using, “I should get there before dawn.”

Malia got off the bed and walked toward the clothes she had folded the night before, “I’ll go with you. We have a pending cooking duel. Don’t think you can run from it.”

“Why would I run? The taste of victory never gets old.”

They got dressed in silence. As much as they wanted to keep the levity going, the air was heavier than they would have liked. Malia stopped midway through fastening her boots, “Gorken…”

“Yes?” he stopped too.

“Why did they poison Bayard’s sister?”

He sighed. The memory was a knife, twisting in his gut, “I was a boy when it happened. As far as I could tell, everybody liked Breya. She was strong and caring, and she had a good relationship with the Council. There was an unsaid understanding that she was on the way to becoming the next leader… But there were those who didn’t want that. They conspired to get rid of her, right there in the dining hall.” Gorken hunched over, placing his forearms on his thighs, “Do you know how a person looks after they suffocate, poisoned? Bayard was sitting next to her that day, as always. I still remember his face.”

Malia touched Gorken’s arm soothingly, “I’m sorry. I won’t ask again.”

“Why wouldn’t you? I’m not mad that you asked, Malia. What happened should never be forgotten. Not Breya, nor her death.”

She kept her hand on his arm, “I wanted to believe this place would be different from the palace… More like a fellowship, or a family…Was that too naïve?”

“Yes, it was.” Gorken held her hand, “But not because we’re not a family. There are monsters and imbeciles in each and every group of people… In ours, they killed Breya. That’s all.” He straightened his posture after a pause, “Still, what binds this family isn’t blood, but the illusion of a common goal… they idea that we’re rebelling against something, when in truth we have our hands full with the mundane chores of survival.”

“You are rebelling!” Gorken’s dejection struck a chord with Malia, “Fighting for the right to live how you want is admirable. Those mundane chores are your fight!”

“I don’t disagree,” he tried to deflate the conversation with a drowsy smile, “but it’s hard to keep a fight going when there’s not even a mirage of victory in sight.”

“Then we just need to remember what victory tastes like, right?” Malia stood up, “I can teach the rebellion everything I know about dealing with magic… everything my master taught me. Even if we don’t have a long term plan, standing your ground when you run into immortals is a good first step. Can we set that up?”

Gorken had always known that more often than not, passion and hope led to despair. But then and there he had an easier time believing in happy endings and virtuous ideals. He recklessly gave in to Malia’s energy, “We could start during today’s training session. Will you be ready by then?”

“I’ll have to be!” she stepped towards the door.

That morning Malia learned that Gorken was a brutal instructor. She was undeniably terrible at cooking, of course, but he was unforgiving in his corrections and evaluations of her poor work. Her utter failure at even peeling potatoes landed her the job of smashing them, which was a breath of fresh air in her sea of ineptitude. She could see coming that, until she had some basic competence, her duties in the kitchens would be relegated to squashing, crushing and grinding. At least I’m good at that.

Aldous was delighted to hear about Malia’s inadequacy and Gorken’s ruthlessness, “There’s a reason I always pick cleaning duty over kitchen duty.” the redhead laughed.

“Because you’re even more incompetent than she is.” Bayard added.

Gorken couldn’t resist chiming in, “It’s actually a close call.”

Malia shot him an insulted look, but in reality she had a hard time believing anyone could perform worse than she had.

They stopped by Rose’s chamber to check on the twins on their way to the training grounds, and they were greeted by Hedera’s angry complaining, “You said you’d come visit us soon and you didn’t show up again yesterday!”

Bayard was unfazed, “We came, but you were asleep.”

“Everyone knows waking up children is a no-no.” Aldous patted her head mockingly, infuriating the small demon.

“What gives you the right to treat us as infants?” Hedera pointed at them indignantly, “State your seniority!”

“Our seniority is that we aren’t kids.” Aldous chuckled.

“Neither are we!” she retorted, “Which phase of the human life cycle are you on? How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-two years old.” Bayard was the first to take Hedera’s argument seriously.

Gorken sat on one of the beds, slightly tired of the little girl’s fussing, “I’m around twenty, I think.”

“I’ve seen nineteen winters.” Aldous messed up Hedera’s hair and had to dodge being bitten in retaliation.

“I’m eighteen.” Malia said lastly.

“You’re all cubs!” Hedera’s shock depleted her rage, “You go around acting like you know it all, yet you’re babies yourselves.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Aldous’ amusement switched into confusion, “We’re all adults.”

“By human standards, you may be.” Licorice’s delicate voice forced everyone else to listen keenly, “We have no memories prior to our banishment, so we do not know our age. However, we do know that fifty two years have passed since we awoke in our current state.”

“Fifty two…!” Aldous stepped back as if punched, “You’re kidding! You’d be old ladies! Why do you look like children then?”

“Either you stop your annoying screeching,” Rose’s voice threatened from behind the curtains, “or I’ll stop it myself.” Their discussion met a swift, brutal end. Malia tightened her throat to make sure no noise would escape her, not even by accident. The lack of sound endured until Rose’s snores released them from their terror; the woman seemed to always be working, and thus her sleep schedule was a disaster in no need of additional interference.

“Let’s get out of here.” Aldous whispered, and no one objected, at least not audibly.

Hedera was about to cling to Bayard’s arm, upset that they were leaving again so soon, when Licorice smashed the opportunity with words only her twin could hear, “Our kind should never yearn for the touch of human hands.”

Hedera was offended, “I know that as well as you do.” Both of them were intimately acquainted with the howling of dying forests, with the sensation of axes and fire desecrating flesh that wasn’t theirs, and yet belonged to them.

“Don’t make me say it then.” Licorice scolded her.

But no human hands had been this gentle before. Hedera didn’t speak it, but through their bond Licorice listened and chose to leave it be.

Malia wasn’t good at waiting. She much preferred taking action on the spot than overthinking and worrying beforehand. She was left with no alternative though; Gorken, Bayard and Aldous were gathering as many rebellion members as they could, so it was her duty as she stood by in the training grounds to draw a mental map of what she would explain, and how. She had never been anyone’s teacher, she realized. Hopefully I’ll be a better novice tutor than I was a novice cook.

She was surrounded by young humans when Gorken made a gesture that probably meant she could start. Malia was alarmed to see him sitting down amidst the crowd; she didn’t know what she had expected, but all of a sudden and with no time to adapt, she became the center of the room. It’s fine, I remember my master’s lessons. I just have to repeat what she told me.

“Hello.” She broke the solid quiet, “I’m Malia, and starting today I’ll be teaching you all I know about magic.” She began pacing back and forth, “As most of you probably know, I’m an immortal. I mean, I’m not immortal but I am an immortal.”

Malia didn’t know what stabbed deeper at her stomach, the disoriented faces of her audience or the seemingly endless awkward moment it took her to keep going, “What I’m trying to say is that immortals are not so different from humans. We can be killed, we get old and we get sick. The main distinction is the ability to use magic some of us have. Well, some of… them. Anyway, I will define magic, explain how it works and do my best to teach you how to defend against it. No, how to win against it.”

Those last words brought forth a hurricane of whispers; the men were hesitant to grip the thread of hope, hesitant to accept that craving for it could end well. It was irresistible nonetheless. As a wave, the murmurs grew and grew until they reached their peak, and then they receded, expecting Malia’s next move.

She was thankful the following part had originally left her master’s mouth, and not her own. “We define magic as the physical manifestation of will power. That’s so vague as to feel overwhelming, but it’s also its major weakness: the boundaries of magic are defined by the capabilities of the mind. And by the physical world as well. Every time you see a magician doing something that seems impossible, they’re simply using magic as a shortcut to do something that could be conceived and accomplished by regular means. And a price must be paid for that ‘shortcut’.”

Malia scanned the mood of her listeners, confirming she hadn’t butchered her master’s explanation, “Magicians must acquire large amounts of information in order to learn how to bend the physical world, and intense concentration is usually required for their techniques to work. Getting distracted, being emotionally unstable or even forgetting part of the formula that’s involved with their magic can make them… can make us lose control of it, and in some cases, render it useless.”

Malia inhaled deeply, impatient to chase from her mind the sight of Sven and Avah’s corpses, “From now on, we must choose our battles. Magic is undeniably an advantage for those who possess it; the only pathway to victory is to compensate for that advantage by preparing ourselves. Ambushing a magician that doesn’t expect humans to know what magic is, much less how to counter it, is the ideal course of action. Never rush into a conflict. It’s much better to spend months crafting a plan, figuring out patrol patterns and studying whose magic does what, than to lose lives pointing your swords at a shadow. Being able to tell a magician from a regular soldier is the vital first step, and training your eyes to analyze their magic is the second one.”

Petros stood up then, “That’s all nice and good, but we don’t get a lot of chances to witness magic and live to tell the tale. Mind doing a demonstration?”

“…Sure.” Malia ran to gain momentum, jumped into the air and then landed gracefully, “That’s a normal jump.” Then she did it again, doubling the height of her previous leap and twirling in the air before landing heavily on the stone floor, “That’s a jump enhanced by my magic.” Some members hooted at her impressive stunt, but most were quietly staring at her or mumbling among themselves. She didn’t know how to involve them in her lecture.

Thankfully, another familiar face spoke up, “This is the second time I see your magic,” Amsel said, “but I’m not sure I get what it does. Could you explain it?”

“Yes.” She paused, “Wait, no. This is a good opportunity. You guys figure it out. What do you think my magic does?”

“It makes you jump very high?” A young man sitting at the front replied, causing a few of his companions to snicker. The longer she gazed at him, the more he looked like a boy instead of a man. “Don’t laugh!” Malia defended him, “That’s not a bad guess. We can start from there.” She focused on the boy; he had a nasty scar across his cheek, “Try to get into my thought process. What does my magic do? What do I need to jump higher than normal?”

He was uncertain, “…Stronger legs than normal?”

“Exactly!” she beamed at him, “However, my magic doesn’t replace my legs for stronger ones. It just forces my body to go beyond its own limits.”

“What about the price?” Petros interjected, “You said you had to pay a price when you used one of magic’s shortcuts.”

“Indeed.” She nodded, pleased that he was actively paying attention, “My price is training. I have to constantly train my body so that it’ll endure the strain. If I tried to pull some feat without training enough for it, I would sustain permanent injuries. Something like a ‘fee’ for failing to pay the price.”

Amsel’s and Petros’ interventions, along with the scarred boy’s, persuaded other members to engage with Malia’s lesson little by little. That day she focused on sharing what she knew about immortal patrols, and on describing the different uniforms that identified magician soldiers. She was particularly emphatic at relaying the warning her master had engraved into her skull, “You must avoid generals at all costs. There are only a few of them, and they’re easy to spot because they wear the golden emblem of their clan on their chest; they take pride in that. I’m not sure I could take one of them on, so we’ll stay away from them. Remember that if you value your lives.”

Malia didn’t know how to finish the training session, but she knew there was no point in overloading her comrades with information, so she simply said, “I think that’s it… for today. Thank you for coming?”

She heard a derisive snort that had to be Aldous’, but she didn’t have time to pinpoint him in the group. She was grateful when Gorken took charge, “You heard her. Go back to your posts and think about what you’ve learned today. You’re free to go.”

It was as if Gorken’s dismissal had lifted a muting veil from the crowd. A clamor of voices and footsteps flooded the rocky hall, and Malia couldn’t make out any of the individual thoughts that weaved it. Aldous, Gorken and Bayard carefully escorted her out of the arena and into the dining hall; it was time to enjoy the work they had put in earlier in the kitchens.

They sat at one of the long wooden tables and were quickly surrounded by other members of the rebellion. Malia was fervently chomping a large piece of hazelnut bread when she heard Amsel asking, “Hey Malia… Why did you decide to become a member of the human rebellion? Why did you side with humans?”

“Because Gorken is a human.” She replied nonchalantly in between bites of bread and apple.

Amsel ‘s eyes darted between Malia and Gorken, “I see!”

“You know Bayard,” Aldous grinned, “it’s a shame we aren’t sitting in front of the boss. I bet we would have been able to see the exact moment his heart skipped a beat just now.”

“Perhaps.” Bayard replied as he lowered his spoon, “We can see his silly smirk though.”

Gorken tried to glare at them in response, but it was hard to glare when he felt so happy.

The rest of the day resembled the previous one; by the time Malia was done with the afternoon sparring session, new bruises and smudges adorned her body. As she submerged in the warm water, relishing the solitude of Rose’s bath, she pondered on how much her life had changed in such a short amount of time. To think I’d enjoy being alone. And then her thoughts returned to Lyra, to the constant friend she had counted on for so long… To the one friend she had left behind.

When Malia returned to Gorken’s room, fresh and clean and ready to rest, she almost bumped into him by the door, “Sorry!” she stepped back, “Are you leaving at this hour?”

“Not of my own volition.” He showed her a piece of parchment, “This is part of handling kitchen duty. Making the list of supplies took me longer than planned. Rose will skin me alive if I don’t deliver it to her by tomorrow. After that I’ll finally go take a bath.” He averted his eyes, “You can go to sleep now though. It’s your turn to use the bed tonight, isn’t it?”

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” She walked past him and into the room, “A list of supplies… Where do you get them? Are there rebellion members working the fields?”

“Not really.” His reply was subtly tinted by shame, “We get them from the same place immortals do. We ‘awakened’ humans are only a handful compared to the rest of humanity… Those with no will mindlessly produce and provide for immortal castles. As long as we don’t run into any patrols during our raids, we can get as much food as we need with no resistance. There’s a lot of it.”

“That makes sense…” She hadn’t intended to make him uncomfortable, “I’m sorry I delayed you. I’ll wait for your return. After all, I won’t be able to fall asleep while wondering whether Rose flayed you or not.”

As she waited, Malia lay down on the couch. As much as she had insisted on taking turns, she didn’t like the couch one bit. Besides, she didn’t understand how Gorken could sleep on it. He was more than a head taller than she was, and he had broad shoulders and long legs. How he managed to fit into the uncomfortable piece of furniture while she barely did, was a mystery to her. And then the thought occurred to her that maybe he hadn’t slept at all. But was it because of the couch? Or had he had no intention of sleeping from the start? It couldn’t be. She remembered the times she had seen him dormant, and how terrified he had looked afterwards.

As her thoughts drifted away, she almost fell into slumber, but Gorken’s arrival stopped her. He entered the room wearing washed, loose clothing, his hair still wet and no longer tied in a low ponytail.

He sat on the bed and kept drying his hair with a towel. Watching him, she remembered she hadn’t combed her own yet. Then she knew what she wanted to ask, and she knew she would feel embarrassed. But she did it anyway.

“Hey, Gorken.”

“Hmm?”

“Could… Could you… comb my hair?”

He smiled at her tenderly, “It will be my pleasure.”

Description

Previous Chapter: ENDLESS Chapter 18: Family

Next Chapter: ENDLESS Chapter 20: Encounters

All Chapters HERE .

Watch the Trailer: ENDLESS Trailer

CHAPTER 19: LESSONS

When Malia woke up, it took her a few moments to understand where she was. She had no recollection of getting into bed; there was a blanket over her, and her hair was tied into a tidy braid. She sat up and spotted Gorken washing his face to the light of a candle in front of an aged mirror.

“Sorry,” he noticed her, “did I wake you?”

She shook her head, “It was your turn to sleep on the bed.”

“Was it? I forgot.”

She ignored his lie, “Why are you up so early?”

“Kitchen duty.” Gorken set aside the basin he was using, “I should get there before dawn.”

Malia got off the bed and walked toward the clothes she had folded the night before, “I’ll go with you. We have a pending cooking duel. Don’t think you can run from it.”

“Why would I run? The taste of victory never gets old.”

They got dressed in silence. As much as they wanted to keep the levity going, the air was heavier than they would have liked. Malia stopped midway through fastening her boots, “Gorken…”

“Yes?” he stopped too.

“Why did they poison Bayard’s sister?”

He sighed. The memory was a knife, twisting in his gut, “I was a boy when it happened. As far as I could tell, everybody liked Breya. She was strong and caring, and she had a good relationship with the Council. There was an unsaid understanding that she was on the way to becoming the next leader… But there were those who didn’t want that. They conspired to get rid of her, right there in the dining hall.” Gorken hunched over, placing his forearms on his thighs, “Do you know how a person looks after they suffocate, poisoned? Bayard was sitting next to her that day, as always. I still remember his face.”

Malia touched Gorken’s arm soothingly, “I’m sorry. I won’t ask again.”

“Why wouldn’t you? I’m not mad that you asked, Malia. What happened should never be forgotten. Not Breya, nor her death.”

She kept her hand on his arm, “I wanted to believe this place would be different from the palace… More like a fellowship, or a family…Was that too naïve?”

“Yes, it was.” Gorken held her hand, “But not because we’re not a family. There are monsters and imbeciles in each and every group of people… In ours, they killed Breya. That’s all.” He straightened his posture after a pause, “Still, what binds this family isn’t blood, but the illusion of a common goal… they idea that we’re rebelling against something, when in truth we have our hands full with the mundane chores of survival.”

“You are rebelling!” Gorken’s dejection struck a chord with Malia, “Fighting for the right to live how you want is admirable. Those mundane chores are your fight!”

“I don’t disagree,” he tried to deflate the conversation with a drowsy smile, “but it’s hard to keep a fight going when there’s not even a mirage of victory in sight.”

“Then we just need to remember what victory tastes like, right?” Malia stood up, “I can teach the rebellion everything I know about dealing with magic… everything my master taught me. Even if we don’t have a long term plan, standing your ground when you run into immortals is a good first step. Can we set that up?”

Gorken had always known that more often than not, passion and hope led to despair. But then and there he had an easier time believing in happy endings and virtuous ideals. He recklessly gave in to Malia’s energy, “We could start during today’s training session. Will you be ready by then?”

“I’ll have to be!” she stepped towards the door.

That morning Malia learned that Gorken was a brutal instructor. She was undeniably terrible at cooking, of course, but he was unforgiving in his corrections and evaluations of her poor work. Her utter failure at even peeling potatoes landed her the job of smashing them, which was a breath of fresh air in her sea of ineptitude. She could see coming that, until she had some basic competence, her duties in the kitchens would be relegated to squashing, crushing and grinding. At least I’m good at that.

Aldous was delighted to hear about Malia’s inadequacy and Gorken’s ruthlessness, “There’s a reason I always pick cleaning duty over kitchen duty.” the redhead laughed.

“Because you’re even more incompetent than she is.” Bayard added.

Gorken couldn’t resist chiming in, “It’s actually a close call.”

Malia shot him an insulted look, but in reality she had a hard time believing anyone could perform worse than she had.

They stopped by Rose’s chamber to check on the twins on their way to the training grounds, and they were greeted by Hedera’s angry complaining, “You said you’d come visit us soon and you didn’t show up again yesterday!”

Bayard was unfazed, “We came, but you were asleep.”

“Everyone knows waking up children is a no-no.” Aldous patted her head mockingly, infuriating the small demon.

“What gives you the right to treat us as infants?” Hedera pointed at them indignantly, “State your seniority!”

“Our seniority is that we aren’t kids.” Aldous chuckled.

“Neither are we!” she retorted, “Which phase of the human life cycle are you on? How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-two years old.” Bayard was the first to take Hedera’s argument seriously.

Gorken sat on one of the beds, slightly tired of the little girl’s fussing, “I’m around twenty, I think.”

“I’ve seen nineteen winters.” Aldous messed up Hedera’s hair and had to dodge being bitten in retaliation.

“I’m eighteen.” Malia said lastly.

“You’re all cubs!” Hedera’s shock depleted her rage, “You go around acting like you know it all, yet you’re babies yourselves.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Aldous’ amusement switched into confusion, “We’re all adults.”

“By human standards, you may be.” Licorice’s delicate voice forced everyone else to listen keenly, “We have no memories prior to our banishment, so we do not know our age. However, we do know that fifty two years have passed since we awoke in our current state.”

“Fifty two…!” Aldous stepped back as if punched, “You’re kidding! You’d be old ladies! Why do you look like children then?”

“Either you stop your annoying screeching,” Rose’s voice threatened from behind the curtains, “or I’ll stop it myself.” Their discussion met a swift, brutal end. Malia tightened her throat to make sure no noise would escape her, not even by accident. The lack of sound endured until Rose’s snores released them from their terror; the woman seemed to always be working, and thus her sleep schedule was a disaster in no need of additional interference.

“Let’s get out of here.” Aldous whispered, and no one objected, at least not audibly.

Hedera was about to cling to Bayard’s arm, upset that they were leaving again so soon, when Licorice smashed the opportunity with words only her twin could hear, “Our kind should never yearn for the touch of human hands.”

Hedera was offended, “I know that as well as you do.” Both of them were intimately acquainted with the howling of dying forests, with the sensation of axes and fire desecrating flesh that wasn’t theirs, and yet belonged to them.

“Don’t make me say it then.” Licorice scolded her.

But no human hands had been this gentle before. Hedera didn’t speak it, but through their bond Licorice listened and chose to leave it be.

Malia wasn’t good at waiting. She much preferred taking action on the spot than overthinking and worrying beforehand. She was left with no alternative though; Gorken, Bayard and Aldous were gathering as many rebellion members as they could, so it was her duty as she stood by in the training grounds to draw a mental map of what she would explain, and how. She had never been anyone’s teacher, she realized. Hopefully I’ll be a better novice tutor than I was a novice cook.

She was surrounded by young humans when Gorken made a gesture that probably meant she could start. Malia was alarmed to see him sitting down amidst the crowd; she didn’t know what she had expected, but all of a sudden and with no time to adapt, she became the center of the room. It’s fine, I remember my master’s lessons. I just have to repeat what she told me.

“Hello.” She broke the solid quiet, “I’m Malia, and starting today I’ll be teaching you all I know about magic.” She began pacing back and forth, “As most of you probably know, I’m an immortal. I mean, I’m not immortal but I am an immortal.”

Malia didn’t know what stabbed deeper at her stomach, the disoriented faces of her audience or the seemingly endless awkward moment it took her to keep going, “What I’m trying to say is that immortals are not so different from humans. We can be killed, we get old and we get sick. The main distinction is the ability to use magic some of us have. Well, some of… them. Anyway, I will define magic, explain how it works and do my best to teach you how to defend against it. No, how to win against it.”

Those last words brought forth a hurricane of whispers; the men were hesitant to grip the thread of hope, hesitant to accept that craving for it could end well. It was irresistible nonetheless. As a wave, the murmurs grew and grew until they reached their peak, and then they receded, expecting Malia’s next move.

She was thankful the following part had originally left her master’s mouth, and not her own. “We define magic as the physical manifestation of will power. That’s so vague as to feel overwhelming, but it’s also its major weakness: the boundaries of magic are defined by the capabilities of the mind. And by the physical world as well. Every time you see a magician doing something that seems impossible, they’re simply using magic as a shortcut to do something that could be conceived and accomplished by regular means. And a price must be paid for that ‘shortcut’.”

Malia scanned the mood of her listeners, confirming she hadn’t butchered her master’s explanation, “Magicians must acquire large amounts of information in order to learn how to bend the physical world, and intense concentration is usually required for their techniques to work. Getting distracted, being emotionally unstable or even forgetting part of the formula that’s involved with their magic can make them… can make us lose control of it, and in some cases, render it useless.”

Malia inhaled deeply, impatient to chase from her mind the sight of Sven and Avah’s corpses, “From now on, we must choose our battles. Magic is undeniably an advantage for those who possess it; the only pathway to victory is to compensate for that advantage by preparing ourselves. Ambushing a magician that doesn’t expect humans to know what magic is, much less how to counter it, is the ideal course of action. Never rush into a conflict. It’s much better to spend months crafting a plan, figuring out patrol patterns and studying whose magic does what, than to lose lives pointing your swords at a shadow. Being able to tell a magician from a regular soldier is the vital first step, and training your eyes to analyze their magic is the second one.”

Petros stood up then, “That’s all nice and good, but we don’t get a lot of chances to witness magic and live to tell the tale. Mind doing a demonstration?”

“…Sure.” Malia ran to gain momentum, jumped into the air and then landed gracefully, “That’s a normal jump.” Then she did it again, doubling the height of her previous leap and twirling in the air before landing heavily on the stone floor, “That’s a jump enhanced by my magic.” Some members hooted at her impressive stunt, but most were quietly staring at her or mumbling among themselves. She didn’t know how to involve them in her lecture.

Thankfully, another familiar face spoke up, “This is the second time I see your magic,” Amsel said, “but I’m not sure I get what it does. Could you explain it?”

“Yes.” She paused, “Wait, no. This is a good opportunity. You guys figure it out. What do you think my magic does?”

“It makes you jump very high?” A young man sitting at the front replied, causing a few of his companions to snicker. The longer she gazed at him, the more he looked like a boy instead of a man. “Don’t laugh!” Malia defended him, “That’s not a bad guess. We can start from there.” She focused on the boy; he had a nasty scar across his cheek, “Try to get into my thought process. What does my magic do? What do I need to jump higher than normal?”

He was uncertain, “…Stronger legs than normal?”

“Exactly!” she beamed at him, “However, my magic doesn’t replace my legs for stronger ones. It just forces my body to go beyond its own limits.”

“What about the price?” Petros interjected, “You said you had to pay a price when you used one of magic’s shortcuts.”

“Indeed.” She nodded, pleased that he was actively paying attention, “My price is training. I have to constantly train my body so that it’ll endure the strain. If I tried to pull some feat without training enough for it, I would sustain permanent injuries. Something like a ‘fee’ for failing to pay the price.”

Amsel’s and Petros’ interventions, along with the scarred boy’s, persuaded other members to engage with Malia’s lesson little by little. That day she focused on sharing what she knew about immortal patrols, and on describing the different uniforms that identified magician soldiers. She was particularly emphatic at relaying the warning her master had engraved into her skull, “You must avoid generals at all costs. There are only a few of them, and they’re easy to spot because they wear the golden emblem of their clan on their chest; they take pride in that. I’m not sure I could take one of them on, so we’ll stay away from them. Remember that if you value your lives.”

Malia didn’t know how to finish the training session, but she knew there was no point in overloading her comrades with information, so she simply said, “I think that’s it… for today. Thank you for coming?”

She heard a derisive snort that had to be Aldous’, but she didn’t have time to pinpoint him in the group. She was grateful when Gorken took charge, “You heard her. Go back to your posts and think about what you’ve learned today. You’re free to go.”

It was as if Gorken’s dismissal had lifted a muting veil from the crowd. A clamor of voices and footsteps flooded the rocky hall, and Malia couldn’t make out any of the individual thoughts that weaved it. Aldous, Gorken and Bayard carefully escorted her out of the arena and into the dining hall; it was time to enjoy the work they had put in earlier in the kitchens.

They sat at one of the long wooden tables and were quickly surrounded by other members of the rebellion. Malia was fervently chomping a large piece of hazelnut bread when she heard Amsel asking, “Hey Malia… Why did you decide to become a member of the human rebellion? Why did you side with humans?”

“Because Gorken is a human.” She replied nonchalantly in between bites of bread and apple.

Amsel ‘s eyes darted between Malia and Gorken, “I see!”

“You know Bayard,” Aldous grinned, “it’s a shame we aren’t sitting in front of the boss. I bet we would have been able to see the exact moment his heart skipped a beat just now.”

“Perhaps.” Bayard replied as he lowered his spoon, “We can see his silly smirk though.”

Gorken tried to glare at them in response, but it was hard to glare when he felt so happy.

The rest of the day resembled the previous one; by the time Malia was done with the afternoon sparring session, new bruises and smudges adorned her body. As she submerged in the warm water, relishing the solitude of Rose’s bath, she pondered on how much her life had changed in such a short amount of time. To think I’d enjoy being alone. And then her thoughts returned to Lyra, to the constant friend she had counted on for so long… To the one friend she had left behind.

When Malia returned to Gorken’s room, fresh and clean and ready to rest, she almost bumped into him by the door, “Sorry!” she stepped back, “Are you leaving at this hour?”

“Not of my own volition.” He showed her a piece of parchment, “This is part of handling kitchen duty. Making the list of supplies took me longer than planned. Rose will skin me alive if I don’t deliver it to her by tomorrow. After that I’ll finally go take a bath.” He averted his eyes, “You can go to sleep now though. It’s your turn to use the bed tonight, isn’t it?”

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” She walked past him and into the room, “A list of supplies… Where do you get them? Are there rebellion members working the fields?”

“Not really.” His reply was subtly tinted by shame, “We get them from the same place immortals do. We ‘awakened’ humans are only a handful compared to the rest of humanity… Those with no will mindlessly produce and provide for immortal castles. As long as we don’t run into any patrols during our raids, we can get as much food as we need with no resistance. There’s a lot of it.”

“That makes sense…” She hadn’t intended to make him uncomfortable, “I’m sorry I delayed you. I’ll wait for your return. After all, I won’t be able to fall asleep while wondering whether Rose flayed you or not.”

As she waited, Malia lay down on the couch. As much as she had insisted on taking turns, she didn’t like the couch one bit. Besides, she didn’t understand how Gorken could sleep on it. He was more than a head taller than she was, and he had broad shoulders and long legs. How he managed to fit into the uncomfortable piece of furniture while she barely did, was a mystery to her. And then the thought occurred to her that maybe he hadn’t slept at all. But was it because of the couch? Or had he had no intention of sleeping from the start? It couldn’t be. She remembered the times she had seen him dormant, and how terrified he had looked afterwards.

As her thoughts drifted away, she almost fell into slumber, but Gorken’s arrival stopped her. He entered the room wearing washed, loose clothing, his hair still wet and no longer tied in a low ponytail.

He sat on the bed and kept drying his hair with a towel. Watching him, she remembered she hadn’t combed her own yet. Then she knew what she wanted to ask, and she knew she would feel embarrassed. But she did it anyway.

“Hey, Gorken.”

“Hmm?”

“Could… Could you… comb my hair?”

He smiled at her tenderly, “It will be my pleasure.”