Chapter 14 Reading Fighting Lessons
The following morning while Rolan was eating porridge at the table, Luc dropped a massive book in front of him. It thudded, rattling Rolan’s dish and spilling porridge onto his lap.
“Watch it!” Rolan exclaimed. “What’s this?”
Luc sat across from him. “This is called a book.”
Rolling his eyes, Rolan scooped porridge from his lap with his spoon and popped it into his mouth. “I know what a book is. What’s it got to do with breakfast?”
“You’re going to learn how to read.”
Rolan snorted. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.” Picking up his bowl, Rolan licked it clean. When he set it down again, he jumped. Luc was glaring at him with full Arcanist strength. It was like being whacked in the nose with a board.
“If you want to sleep under this roof,” Luc said gruffly, “you’ll learn how to read.”
Rolan shrugged, not nearly as bothered by that baleful glare as he’d once been. “I’ll sleep in the barn, with Apple.”
Luc waved an exasperated hand. “Who is Apple?”
“The horse. His name is Apple.”
“Oh, he told you that, did he?”
Crossing his arms, Rolan tilted back in his chair, the front legs lifting up. “Yeah, we’re friends now. On account of surviving a traumatic life-or-death experience together.”
“Okay. Fine.” Luc tipped Rolan’s chair with his foot so that he landed on all four legs with a hard plunk. “What does ‘apple’ start with?”
“Uh… a nose? If you’re going front to back. If you’re going ground up, I guess… hooves?”
Luc rolled his eyes. “Not the horse, you weasel. The word ‘apple.’ What does it start with?”
Rolan gave a long, noisy groan, drawing the sound out for as long as his breath would go before planting his face on the tabletop.
“What good is reading when you fight a Cryptic?” he muttered into the table.
“Are you gonna read it to death? Or is that a fate you only save for poor, innocent children? I thought I was apprenticed to an Arcanist, not a blasted librarian. You wanna teach me a real skill?” He turned his face, planting his cheek on the table and grinning at Luc. “Teach me fighting.”
The Arcanist’s blue eyes glinted. “Reading.”
Defiantly, Rolan sat up and thrust his jaw forward. He pounded a fist on the table. “Fighting!”
“Reading.”
“Oh no…” Rolan’s head fell back. His arms and legs went limp. He rolled out of the chair and splattered onto the floor where he lay with his limbs sprawled to the sides.
“Jelly bones,” he moaned.
Luc dragged a weary hand over his face, seeming to age ten years in a moment.
“What,” Luc sighed, “are jelly bones?”
“It’s a condition,” mumbled Rolan, his face pressed to the floorboards. “Very serious. You can’t make me read if I have jelly bones. Can’t walk, can’t bathe, can’t use the toilet. And I just drank a lot of water. This is going to be a serious problem for you soon.”
“Enough!” Luc tossed up his hands. “I don’t have time for this idiocy. I have work to do.”
He rose and began cleaning the house, scrubbing the table and kitchen, carrying out rugs to beat them over a line, sweeping every mote of dust from the floor—except for the bit where Rolan remained motionlessly sprawled.
Ah. So it was gonna be like that, was it? Luc would try to wait him out.
Rolan could play that game too.
Luc cleaned all day. He sorted things, packed them, then sorted them again.
He cleaned the windows. He scrubbed out the fireplace.
When darkness eventually fell, Rolan was still lying on the floor.
At some point he must have fallen asleep, because he woke with a start when Supper appeared and began licking his hair.
“Mmmf,” he groaned, his mouth dry and sticky.
Luc was sitting in his armchair by the fire, one arm extended to stir a pot of stew. His mouth slanted smugly as Rolan was forced to endure Supper’s disgusting and thorough ablutions.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Luc said. He lifted a spoon piled with delectable meats and seasoned vegetables. The smell made Rolan’s stomach twist. “You must be pretty hungry by now.”
“I’ve gone days without eating before,” Rolan told him. “I know how to ignore hunger. You can’t beat me that way.”
Luc put down the spoon, his brow creasing as he studied Rolan. Then he leaned back, rubbing his face, to stare at the fire. Several long minutes passed with neither of them moving.
Finally Luc said, “What if I teach you reading and fighting?”
“That sounds exhausting for us both.”
“Rolan.”
“Fine!” Rolan popped up from the floor, his arms and legs tingling numbly. “Fighting and reading. But in that order. And… I want to learn the scarecrow thing too.”
Luc’s brow furrowed. “The scarecrow thing?”
“You know. That ridiculous thing where you balance on a wobbly pole like a lunatic? It looks as stupid as dirt, but I want to learn that too. Fighting, balancing, and reading, in that order, and you’ve got a deal.”
“Ah.” Luc narrowed his eyes. “I can work with that. Yes, I do believe I can.”
Rolan gripped the knife and studied his target, suddenly unsure of all his choices. “It’s a bit far, don’t you think? Maybe I should start with stabbing things.”
“Maybe you should just listen to what I’m telling you,” grunted Luc. “Use your wrist, not your shoulder. Focus on aim, not force.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Rolan hefted the knife, drew his arm back, then hesitated. The side of the barn was easy enough to hit, but the letter A Luc had drawn on the side of it, in black charcoal, was a different matter.
“Go on,” Luc encouraged. “Hit the A. And remember, when you throw—”
“Say the sound it makes,” Rolan droned. “I got it. Ahhhh.”
“Or?”
Rolan’s eyes flickered skyward. “Ayyyyy.”
“Good. Now throw.”
Rolan slung the knife. It wobbled through the air in a magnificent arc and disappeared into the grass to their left.
Luc blinked. “Well. I figured you’d miss the target, but the entire barn…?”
“Yeah, well.” Rolan started off in the direction of the knife. “I figured you’d be a better teacher!”
As Rolan hunted around for the blade, Luc seemed to ponder his words. Finally he called out, “In my defense, you’re the first person I’ve ever taught.”
Rolan gave a triumphant “Ha!” when he found the knife.
Retrieving it, he returned to the Arcanist’s side, thumbing the spiraling mark near the hilt.
He’d noticed that all Luc’s weapons sported the same symbol, but he still did not know what it was.
“The duke said he’d been trying to get you to take an apprentice for years. Why didn’t you?”
Luc took so long to answer that Rolan nearly forgot the question. He slung the knife again. This time it clanged off the barn wall and rebounded into a haystack. Only when he’d dug it out and jogged back did the Arcanist reply.
“This life isn’t for everyone.”
“This life isn’t for everyone,” Rolan echoed, mimicking Luc’s growly voice. “I’m the scary Arcanist, more monster than man, and I’m so grumpy that I make storms look friendly!”
Luc glowered. “Are you going to throw the knife, or are you going to carry on like a fool?”
Rolan threw the knife. It twirled neatly and buried itself point first into the barn wall. It was wildly off target, but still. It was an improvement.
“Maybe you’re not such a bad teacher after all.” Rolan patted the Arcanist’s arm. “There’s hope for you yet, old man.”
“Go get your knife,” Luc said. “And let’s work on the letter B, which stands for blasted, bull-headed boy.”
Rolan grinned.
But as he tugged his knife out of the barn’s plank wall, his smile dropped from his face.
Off to the east, where the forest rolled like a green sea, the trees were moving. Wordlessly, he pointed, and Luc turned to look.
It was as if the wind were rolling through the forest canopy, but only in one spot. Moving in an erratic line, miles off.
“Cryptic?” asked Rolan.
Luc nodded, the worry line between eyebrows growing deeper.
“Big one?” asked Rolan.
“Big one.” Luc absently scrubbed at his beard with his huge hand, and Rolan saw his other hand move to his sword.
Rolan’s eyes flitted back to the trees, but they’d fallen still. “How far?”
Luc turned back around. “Far enough to be no bother to us…”
Yet. That’s the word he left hanging in the air between them, like an axe blade that could fall at any moment.
“Stow your knife, boy,” grunted the Arcanist. “Fighting lessons are over for today.”
Rolan nodded. He could tell by Luc’s expression that he was thinking of going hunting.
Which would mean Rolan would have to spend the rest of the day locked in the house, tediously copying down the letter A until his eyes crossed.
Seized with a notion to stop the man, Rolan cast about for some excuse that might convince him to stay and continue his lessons.
Then he saw the perfect thing.
“Wait!” he cried, running toward the wobbly pole. “You promised to teach me the trick to this thing, remember? Well. Do you keep your promises or not?”
The Arcanist winced, his gaze slipping away to the woods again.
Rolan jumped up onto the pole before Luc could utter some reason to get away. He wobbled precariously on the ball of his left foot for three seconds before tumbling hard onto his stomach, right at Luc’s feet.
Groaning, Rolan spat dirt and glared at the Arcanist, who watched him with a mightily unimpressed expression.
“Well?” Rolan demanded, rolling over. “Don’t just stand there all judgmental. What’s the trick to it?”
Sighing, the Arcanist gestured at Rolan to get up.
He did, dusting his pants and huffing, wishing he’d never added this stupid exercise to his lessons.
What had he been thinking? There was no point to this.
It wouldn’t impress anyone. He could imagine Anaya now, even if he did manage to balance on the pole, clapping her hands mockingly.
Ohh, Rolan, wow, how special and brave you are—standing on one leg!
Flushing, Rolan turned away. “Forget it. I don’t care any—”
“First of all,” Luc rumbled, “you must shut your eyes.”
“I tried that already,” Rolan complained.
“Second of all,” the Arcanist continued, “you must imagine you are sinking, heavy and slow, into a great black pit. A pit that stretches all the way down to the center of the world.”
Rolan grimaced. “Ugh. I’ve fallen into your pits before. Can’t I imagine something nice, like snuggling into a giant pie? Or a warm loaf of bread?”
The Arcanist ignored him, continuing, “Every time you think of anything—any thought at all—you stop sinking and rise instead. Every thought is a rope, tethering you to the surface. You must cut the ropes. Let go of everything that would drag you up.” Luc’s voice was so even, and so serious, that Rolan couldn’t help but be intrigued. He waited, dubious but silent.
“Focus on falling. And when you can reach the bottom, and can tell me what waits at the center of the world,” Luc said, “then you will know the trick.”
“What waits at the center of the world? So it’s all about some dumb riddle?
What’s the point?” Rolan burst out. And why do I care so much about it?
he asked himself inwardly. The pole trick was like a seed in his teeth.
He just couldn’t stop worrying at it until it made sense.
“You want me to stand on one leg like a blasted goose, pretending I’m falling down a hole, just to find out what’s at the bottom?
How will I even know when I’ve found it? ”
“If you find the answer,” replied Luc, “you will know.”
Rolan ground his teeth together. He knew that tone Luc was using.
It was the sort of voice Hoff used when he said, “if you ever straighten yourself out…” and that Evaine used when she said, “if you would just go to school…” and that Anaya used when she said, “if you would just stop acting like an idiot for five minutes…”
It was a familiar blend of disdain and disbelief, and it cut Rolan like a knife.
It was a tone that really meant: if you could… but we both know you can’t.
Luc didn’t believe Rolan could solve his stupid riddle.
Which meant Rolan had no choice but to prove him wrong.