Chapter 32 #2
Benji stepped up to the platform and extended his right arm.
With brusk proficiency, Instructor Penbrook dipped a paint brush into the Starshell ink and transferred the glyph onto his arm.
They said a few other words, too quiet to hear.
Instructor Garcien handed Benji a sheathed dagger, length of rope, and spyglass, saying a few words of her own. Benji beamed.
“Pasha Clairmont, receiving Clarity.”
Pasha practically ran to the podium, bouncing on her heels as she received her mark, spyglass, rope, and weapon. Instructor Garcien said something to her that brightened her expression further.
“Talissa Hawthorne,” Instructor Penbrook called next. “Receiving Fortitude.”
Does that mean no one else this year gets Fortitude?
I tried not to let my jealousy spike. Talissa made her way up, accepting her rewards. More trainees I didn’t know followed after her.
“Henrik Ravenscroft, receiving Acumen.”
Henrik grinned from ear to ear, pleased with his assigned Skinscript. He practically skipped up to the podium, extending his arm with a flourish while Instructor Penbrook brushed the magic into him. His excitement was infectious, and I found myself pleased for him too.
I struggled to pay attention as more trainees I hadn’t met yet went up.
“Mikaela Newbury, receiving Auditory,” Instructor Penbrook read out.
Mikaela froze like someone had struck her. “There must be some mistake,” she said, loud enough to be heard. “I’m deaf in one ear. Auditory would be ill-suited.”
“There’s no mistake,” Instructor Penbrook replied. “The Ascendancy has chosen Auditory as your Skinscript. Will you receive it?”
She took a step back, hugging herself, head dipping. I caught a glimpse of angry tears making their way down her cheeks before she dashed them, tightening her jaw and stepping forward. The words exchanged between her and the instructors looked terse.
In the end, she pulled back her hair and received the glyph behind her ear.
Without even a pause, Instructor Penbrook called out “Georlan Sutherland, receiving Restoration.”
Georlan’s grin split his entire face, mixed with shock.
His roommate nudged him forward. It took Instructor Penbrook three times as long to paint the Restoration glyph than all the previous trainee’s glyphs.
Georlan flexed his hand in awe after it was done, accepting his rope, dagger and spyglass with his other hand.
“Yeshar Dunst, receiving Strength.”
Just what he needed, one more tool to help with his calculating and scheming. I pressed my lips together, trying not to grind my teeth. He looked all too smug on the podium with his arm out, like he was receiving his due.
“Sarina Rossi, receiving Beauty.”
Corra’s expression went from apprehensive to devastated to stony in a blink.
She wasn’t fast enough to hide the transition with me standing right next to her.
I squeezed her hand, and she turned a carefully blank stare on me.
“It’s fine,” she whispered, before moving forward to receive her Skinscript.
I couldn’t imagine her disappointment. Beauty was a Skinscript that hadn’t been deemed valuable enough to cover during our lessons.
It would help her out in the field–not at all.
There were many like it, but she was the only one in our year to receive such a forgettable glyph.
I didn’t even know what it did. None of us did.
Instructor Penbrook painted the Skinscript onto her arm with a swift efficiency, saying a few words to her as he finished. Corra recoiled as if he’d physically slapped her, rushing from the stage back to her place near me.
“Veridiana Monterose, receiving Balance,” Veridiana stepped forward to receive her Skinscript. I barely paid her any attention at all.
Corra rubbed at the new mark on her arm, eyes glassy as she watched.
“What did he say?” I asked, voice low so we wouldn’t be overheard.
She glared down at her glyph, balling her fists. “‘You really thought you got away with it, Sarra?’”
My breath caught, fear forming an icy lump in my throat. They’d been exposed. How?
“Lisia Ellington,” Instructor Penbrook called out. His lips pulled up into an unpleasant smile. “Receiving Luck.”
Luck. The Skinscript for gamblers and degenerates, the most worthless glyph possible to receive.
If Corra’s Beauty Skinscript was an indignity, mine was an outright mockery.
Instructor Penbrook didn’t like me, but this was low even for him.
Was he doing this because Zevrial had forced him to heal me?
Or was this ‘the rest’ Yeshar had mentioned earlier?
Anger flushed up the skin on the back of my neck.
I wouldn’t lose the chance to graduate, even if it meant publicly accepting the most insulting Skinscript glyph.
Straightening my spine, I refused to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing how disappointed and upset I was as I walked up to the platform and extended my arm.
Instructor Penbrook drew the glyph onto my forearm without even a twitch of distaste.
Even with his clear dislike of me, his brushwork was still impeccable.
A familiar warmth soaked into me when he finished, what I now recognized as the power of a new Skinscript taking root.
“Thank you,” I said, voice even. My smile felt more like a baring of my teeth.
“A suitable Skinscript for a criminal,” he said.
“Don’t you mean Apostate?” I challenged. “I served my sentence.”
“I meant what I said,” he stepped back, looking pointedly back toward the edge of the platform.
Instructor Garcien stepped toward us. “Quentin, you should know better than to play favorites, or repeat unconfirmed stories.”
Instructor Penbrook didn’t look chastised at all.
She handed me a sheathed Starshell dagger, coiled rope, and spyglass. “Don’t forget your gifts. I hope you continue on to become a notable Voyager.”
Clutching the gifts to my chest with both hands, I fought down the conflicting riot of emotions welling up. “Thank you.”
I forced one foot in front of the other until I stood beside Corra again. She inquired about what he’d said and I repeated it back to her.
“What a loathsome little toad Penbrook is,” Corra whispered to me. “Forget him. I hope Luck brings you so much fortune his memory rots beneath the piles of your gold.”
Tucking the rope and spyglass into my pocket and the dagger into the hem of my pants, I gave her a weak shrug. “Beauty is the last thing you need more of, but I hope it helps you too.”
It didn’t matter what crime he thought I’d committed.
Or if Yeshar had orchestrated me receiving Luck.
I would never be forced back into the Reformatory now that I was qualified in a service.
Any future crimes would see me returned to the Devourer.
If Instructor Penbrook thought I had committed a crime, he didn’t have any hard evidence, or I’d already be dead.
Luck was now a permanent addition to my growing collection of Skinscript, and I’d make the most of it. Even if that meant no more than winning at Haburi.
More and more graduates were called up and decorated with Skinscript. I tuned it all out.
The simmering heat of anger hadn’t left my blood. When I glanced toward Zevrial, he looked how I felt.
He’d taken on a russet pallor, muscles ticking in his jaw and neck as he stared at Instructor Penbrook with unconcealed fury. His eyes promised violence.
It didn’t matter what Skinscript I received. I was a Voyager now, and I was proud of everything I’d put in to become one. This wasn’t a service I preferred, but it was mine. Nothing Instructor Penbrook, Yeshar, or the Ascendancy could throw at me would diminish what I’d achieved.
So why did I still feel so mad?
I traced the new glyph on my skin with light pressure, taking a steadying breath while trying to force myself to calm down.
It wasn’t working. I wanted to hit something, or more specifically, someone.
There was an invisible wall between me and my emotions right now, where they were too far out of reach to manage, yet close enough to bleed into a temper.
Pulling in another gulp of air, I concentrated on slowing the wild animal in my chest that my heart pretended to be. It kept racing and my frustration was climbing higher.
I shot a pointed look at Zevrial, pulling one clenched fist up to my chest above our shared Skinscript and giving him my best scowl.
Knock it off.
My pounding heartbeat slowed, anger coiling in me like a serpent saving its strike.
Instructor Garcien stepped up to the podium as the final Voyager moved back onto the sand with their new Skinscript.
“The Devourer has blessed us with enough Voyagers this year to complete the crew for another Arc. This year’s graduates will be assigned to the Shadowtide, which leaves from Cyrthei for Raevar in two days at ten am.
The journey is one week in both directions, so pack accordingly. ”
Two days to pack up my things from the outpost, plan the best way to ruin my own wedding, and pack again for what would be a two week long voyage.
My first voyage on an Arc.
And it would be to the outermost isle.
Something squirmed in my gut, and I identified it as unease.
In hindsight, I’d look back on that moment as a rare flash of intuition.