Trial of an Avlarian Hopeful (a story for Teir) Options

[redsrock]

Originally I was going to post this as one submission. However, I've come to realize this short story is going to be a tad bit longer that what I set out to write in the beginning. Not that that's a bad thing of course. Anyways, here is Part One. I hope you enjoy it.

Trial of an Avlarian Hopeful


*The Jiivian Forest, in Haevliir, capitol city of the Avlarian region of Klout*

“A man who trusts no one is a man who cannot be trusted. That is the Avlarian way, my little brother. Haven’t you listened to the Katul’s homilies? Surely you have, for you and your fellow younglings sit in the very first row. I see it when I walk past his home on the way to training. ”

Standing under the bright light of the moon were Farel and his younger brother, Frae. Both were covered in heavy, brown fur-hide, made from the massive Hlork beasts that prowled the most northeastern tip of the province, just outside the shorelines of the Vasilnie Sea; for it was rather cold this very night, even for the two Avlaani boys that had been used to the extreme frigidness of their snowy homeland for many years. Farel knew not why it was much colder than usual no more than he understood why the winds were howling louder than he could last remember. But what he did know was that it mattered not, for the almighty Katul’s orders had to be carried out no matter what. Failure, quite literally, was not an option.

The Trial of Valor was something every youngling had to go through, no matter how violent the winds were and no matter who chilled the air was. To slay the beast was Frae’s third and final trial, after having already accomplished the Trials of Acumen and Aptitude with relative ease.

“I have listened, Farel, but it’s been so difficult. Sometimes I can’t even understand what he’s saying, and neither can any of my classmates. These…Seven Songs he speaks of. I just can’t even being to grasp their meaning.

Frae raised his hands in frustration and sat down on a lone stump, one of many in the Jiivian Forest. The tree’s lumber was used to light the Avlaani people’s fireplaces in their homes. And because it was the latter part of the Frost’s Bite, a great many of the trees had already been chopped down by massive axes and razor sharp saws that were taller than their wielders themselves.

“Ah, the Seven Songs of Triumph, written by the Almighty Hero himself,” Farel exclaimed, a slight smile appearing on his face. He too had suffered a great deal of frustration during his time as a youngling. “I’ll admit that I haven’t been able to fully grasp their meanings either, but I’m getting there. Of course, you shouldn’t worry. As an Aucher-to-be, you only need to understand the basics. Only a Bustilliar needs to know the depth of Songs’ significance. As warriors, all we need to know how to do is wield a piece of metal, and nothing else,” he said, winking at his brother, trying to bolster his confidence. And it’s a good thing he was doing so, for the night’s mission certainly called for one to have full confidence in their abilities.

“I guess so. I just…I…” Frae began to stutter, and then stopped. What he wanted to say was very difficult, even more so than understanding the Seven Songs. It was something he had been keeping from his family for quite some time. “I just don’t think I’m the warrior type, Farel. Look at you! You’re so fit and muscular and you wield even the heaviest of weapons as if they’re but a tiny twig! Me? I’m the worst in my age division at melee combat! I’ve yet to win a single match against the other younglings with wooden weaponry, and I am skinny as a rail! How can this be? How am I supposed to be an Avlarian War-Bringer if I can’t even fight?”

For a moment Farel simply stood by his brother, whose head was now buried in his small, boney hands in embarrassment. Farel wasn’t sure what to say, because he never knew his little brother had such feelings. The Gairven lineage had always been known for producing salient warriors for the Avlarian army. As far as Farel could remember, they had never produced a magic-wielding Bustilliar. “Well…I certainly wasn’t expecting you to say that,” he offered, trying his best not to sound too condemning, because in all honesty Farel was somewhat angry. After all the years of vigorous training before Frae was actually being admitted into the Katul’s class of many teachings, now all of a sudden Frae was claiming to not be the warrior his entire family wanted him to be. I wonder if the Katul himself knows about this… Farel thought to himself.

The Katul was the High Magistrate of Klout, meaning he led Klout’s army, though he lived in the capitol of Haevliir just as the officers themselves did. The Katul led its small organization of trained Bustilliars, or magic-wielders for a more generic term, in every battle. Klout prides itself on having the toughest and most intimidating army in all of northwestern Teir, but the Katul (whose name is actually Vrenin Klorr) also wants to be sure that his army is able to defend against magic as well. The Auchers, or war-bringers, know nothing about magic unless they teach themselves or hire someone to do it for them, which is rather rare. According to Avlarian lore, Auchers have traditionally looked down upon the Bustilliars, despite the fact that they are just as much an integral part of Klout’s army as the Auchers are. Unfortunately, Farel falls under this particular bias as well. But fortunately for Frae, Farel also has a passionate love for his brother, and would never do anything to hurt his feelings. But then again, this was a situation unlike any Farel had been faced with before.

“I’m sorry, Farel, but that’s the truth. I’ll never say anything to father of course, for he would burst out with so much anger it scares me to even think about it. Mother wouldn’t care I don’t think….but then again she’d also be one to tell father because she would be worried about me. What should I do, Farel?”

Frae had yet to meet his brother’s eyes during this, and Farel didn’t like that. It meant Frae was scared, and that wasn’t a good thing. Not that night. Not on a night where confidence and concentration were needed just as much as actual skills in battle. “I…I don’t know, Frae. This is awfully sudden. Are you trying to tell me you have no fighting skills whatsoever? You told father how well you were doing. Was that all a lie?”

First the first time Frae looked up at his older brother, and even stood up from the stump as well. “Not a lie,” he said, his voice quivering slightly. “I’d call it…stretching the truth. My skills in battle aren’t too shabby…but with magic rather than brute force.”

Without realizing he was doing so, Farel titled his head sideways as if the only thing coming out of his brother’s mouth was complete gibberish. “You…you can actually wield magic?”

Frae now looked back towards the ground, though he did not sit back down. He was ashamed of what he had just told Farel, for the mark of magic was something their father was entirely against. Their father called it weak and demon-like. The only reason their father didn’t speak of his disapproval publicly was because the Katul willed it himself, and that is the only reason.

“Yes. Not much, but I’m getting better and better every day. The thing is…not even the Katul knows about it. I’ve….I’ve taught myself everything that I know.”

“How?” Farel asked, his voice started to rise.

“Mostly books, but also from watching the Katul teach the youngling Bustilliar-Hopefuls I the afternoon. The books are hiding inside the hollow of a tree just behind our house. But I practice the magic outside of the city walls of course, for fear of being caught. You’re…you’re not going to tell on me, are you?”

His eyes met Farel’s once more, with a pleading look about them. Farel kicked at the shin-high deep snow on the ground and then sighed, knowing what he felt but not sure on how to put it into words. “Tell on you? Frae…you’re about to go up against the fiercest creature this side of the Vasilnie! And now you tell me you’re not a warrior? Is this the mistrust you’ve spoken about? That you haven’t been able to trust anyone enough to tell them of your secret…passion?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Frae responded, an actual tear trickling down his pale, freckle-filled face. “I trust you more than anyone else, Farel. Thanks for understanding all of this.”

“Well…I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you, a member of the Gairven family, are not skilled in the use of melee warfare…but rather…you are favorable towards magic. Truthfully I am astounded, and somewhat disgusted in a way, that this has happened. How did it happen, Frae? Why have you followed a path that no one has led you down?”

The anger in Farel’s voice was much more than he intended, even if it was the truth. And he could sense the hurt in his little brother’s eyes, even if Frae was trying his best to hide it. It was a deep hurt, but so far Frae had been able to hold back the river of tears.

“I don’t know exactly,” Frae began. “The liking just…came to me. You don’t approve, do you?”

“No…not at all,” Farel replied sternly, looking up at the moon and nothing else. He was so angry with his brother, almost to the point of yelling at him. But he didn’t want to do that. No matter how much he wanted to scold him, he could not. But he was now worried. “Let us… let us continue with the trial, Frae. We’re almost there…”

The trial was his brother’s test of strength and determination to succeed in battle. Such a task was standard for any youngling wishing to join the Klout army. The battle was one against the great Hlork beasts. They normally roamed by themselves, so Farel and Frae were looking for all by itself. Farel was to stand aside and watch his brother fight, no matter what. If Frae was to die, Farel had no other choice but to watch; because to be defeated by the Hlork signifies youngling’s weakness, and as harsh as it may be, this test has been in place since the beginning of the beginning itself. And Farel wasn’t feeling too good at this time, because of what he had just learned of his brother. In truth, Farel wanted to turn right back around and tell the Katul of what Frae had spoken, but that was impossible now. The blue-fire torch had been magically summoned by the Katul, officially marking the beginning of the last trial there was no going back.

What if he dies? Farel thought to himself as they both continued north towards the shorelines of the Vasilnie Sea, Frae trudging slightly behind with his head held low, ashamed that he had disappointed his brother. The brother that he looked up to and the brother that had always been there for him. To disappoint him weighed heavily on Frae. What if he dies right there before me? What will I do then? I can’t possible stand by and watch…can I?

They walked through the enormous thicket of trees, trees higher than even the ancient High-Towers of the Olden Age, in utter silence. A silence so awkward that Farel felt as if he was accompanied by no one by the air, and perhaps the spirits of the fallen Avlarian warriors of past battles and wars. Traditional fireplace-stories claim that the spirits of deceased Avlarian warriors accompany one when they most need it. The Katul won’t admit that such a thing is true, but nor does he deny it. Farel knew his little brother would need all the help he could get, and unfortunately it wouldn’t be coming from him.

They arrived at Grevling’s Lair, the site of most of the Hlork beasts, within less than an hour. The grove itself was positioned just over a high ridge, and just to the north of the coastlines. In this small thin set of frozen grasslands, Hlork could be found searching the land for food at night, for they were nocturnal creatures, thanks to the Blank Light Incident. But that is an entirely different story.

Farel thought he could hear the waves crashing into the shore, but that was hard to tell because of the weeping winds. To him it almost sounded as if the winds were crying for his little brother, a thought that chilled him to the bone. And as much as he wanted to rid his mind of it, he could not. He worried for his brother. He worried for Frae’s life.

“This is it, Frae. Get out your halberd and shield, and be sure that the axe that is strapped to your back is fastened tightly so that it doesn’t come undone before you need it,” Farel said, still not looking at his brother. By now everything was stand procedure, for Farel’s friends had told him of their time when they had taken their own little brothers to the Grove. None of them had died. Farel didn’t want Frae to be the first. “Do you remember what stance the Katul taught you?”

Both walked up a hill and then looked down to see a single Hlork beast eating the corpse of some creature neither could clearly make out. Frae leaned forward just a bit, as if attempting to hear the heavy huffs of the Hlork beat breathing. “Yes…I do. Keep my left leg out and right leg back just a bit, to keep balance when the Hlork attacks. Shield in left hand held firmly, with my spear gripped tightly in my right hand, the front hook part resting in the small opening at the top of the shield for support.” The tone in his voice told of many things, mostly that he didn’t want to be there. He’d rather be back at home learning new spells, for the spells he knew would be no use against the Hlork beast. But that was too late. He had waited just hours too late.

“That’s right. And what happens if your spear is split in two by the Hlork’s tusks?”

“I bring out my axe and do my best to chop off the tusks. Because if I can chop off its tusk the only thing it can do is stomp on me with its hooves. From there I focus on the neck or stomach area, where it is least protected. Stay away from the ribs and back because its hide there is too tough to penetrate with a low-quality weapon like mine.”

“Right,” Farel said, looking at his brother and nothing else. For the first time, he noticed how small Frae was. He was rather short for his age of sixteen, and was very boney as well, showing no signs of muscle whatsoever. By this time Farel was having serious second thoughts about the Trial and whether or not his brother would survive or not. He wanted to turn around and head back into town, and announce that his brother had changed his mind. Farel was ashamed that his brother wanted to wield magic rather than an axe or spear, but at the same time he did not want to see his brother slaughtered.

What do I do? Do I let him die? It’s against the Katul’s word…but what if Frae and I went back? Would he really be cruel enough to execute both me and Frae? I don’t know…I wish this wasn’t even question of thought right now... Why in the name of Baar does he have to like magic? Why? He’s a Gairven! He’ supposed to wield spears, hammers and axes, not demonic magic!

“Farel?”

Suddenly Farel snapped out of his nightmarish daydream to realize Frae was standing before; clad in the same Hlork-fur Farel was wearing. But something was wrong with Frae’s. It didn’t seem to fit at all. It looked baggy and awkward. This was the first time Farel had ever noticed such a thing.

“Yes…sorry. Come here and I’ll put on the Mark.”

Farel reached behind him and grabbed a sack that he had been carrying, made from the tough hide of a Maawl, a fast and deadly four-legged predator that roams the southeastern part of Klout, just on the border between the Avlaani territory of Vaen. He pulled from the sack a metallic canister that fit perfectly in the palm on his meaty hand. Opening the lid of the canister revealed a cream-like substance, crushed and mixed-together innards of fish from the Vasilnie Sea. Lore has it that the sea was blessed by Baar himself upon its creation ages and ages ago. The entrails, when spread upon one’s cheeks, are supposed to give their luck in combat, as well as heightened concentration and a greater will to succeed.

Farel was about to spread the intestines over his brother’s cheeks, when he noticed they were wet. Frae was crying, or at least had been. He wasn’t crying before. How long was I out of it? His hands were just inches from Frae’s face, but he didn’t dare touch them. It was as if he was afraid of the tears, afraid that they held the memories that he feared he would soon be forced to grasp. In the reflection of the tears he thought he saw his brother lying in red snow. This was an extreme trick of the eye of course, but the thought of it was still disturbing nonetheless.

Before his brother could say anything else he spread the ointment of sort onto his young skin, skin smooth as Ibisarian silk. “There, you’re ready,” he said, his own voice starting to quiver. Farel didn’t want any of this to happen, not now. Last night he had been proud and eager to accompany his little brother on his third and final Trial. But now…now he scared for his brother’s life. Disgusted, yes, but still worried about his brother’s safety more than anything. The other Auchers, at least the younger ones, had always pestered him for his great love for his brother. They called him a girly-boy, even if secretly they likely felt the same way. Farel was simply not afraid to show and admit to such a love. In fact, he saw that bond as something greater than any War-Bringer, a force stronger than any kind of magic even the Katul himself could conjure.

For a moment or two Frae stood there under the moonlight, staring into his brother’s eyes, likely surprised to see that Farel too was crying. And this must have been somewhat of an message, for out of nowhere Frae began to bawl his eyes out. He leapt into his brother’s arms, his head resting just barely at chest level. Farel had not a clue what to do, for he had never seen his brother exert such extreme emotions. But, he wrapped his arms around and returned the favor. He did not cry, though, or at least he tried. It was impossible to keep back every single tear, but he would not cry a river like his brother was. He was the older one, the wiser one. He had to be the stronger one as well.

“There,” he said, gently pushing Frae back. “It’s time to begin your final Trial, Frae. Remember…remember what the Katul has taught you, as well what you’ve learned from father and I.” he choked on his words halfway, his lips trembling not just from the cold.

Frae started down the hill towards the Hlork beast, when suddenly Farel called out, “Frae…” Frae turned around to look back at his brother, who stood there for an entire five seconds without saying a word.

“Yes?” Frae asked.

Farel sighed heavily, looked up into the dark, starry sky, and then back to his little brother. “Good luck, Frae. I…I love you.”

Farel knew not what happened next exactly, for his brother was in such a position that the moonlight reflected off to where it almost blinded him. But, he could have sworn that Frae raised his right hand into the air making a fist, and then extending his thumb out. Such a sign was a symbol on kinship between blood-brothers. Again, he knew not what happened exactly, but Farel could have sworn that was what had taken place right then before his eyes.

He had not the time to return the symbol, for his brother was already descending the hill, his small feet crunching through the heavy snow. The snow was deep enough to bury someone. Farel hoped that would be the case tonight, but a burial for something much bigger than a man…or more specifically, a little boy.