Chapter 27 -Discovery

“Hail Gelas!”

I grinned and waved back at the man who had called out my name. Times were changing, and I had begun to build a name for myself in Katentin. Although there had not yet been any major ‘sporting events’ since I had arrived, occasionally citizens were allowed to sit in on our practice sessions. The experience I had garnered with swords during my fights in Chereba’s nest quickly proved itself to be but a fingernails weight when compared to the experience of my peers. I had grown up on the streets, they grew up with the funds for at least one weapons master. Despite my inexperience, all could recognize that my progress was astounding. Hensler, the short and stocky spearmaster, served as the intermediary between Serena Blackwater and I. He was the man in charge of directing my studies to remedy my deficiencies and exaggerate my strengths. Not too difficult a task I thought. Often seen with a smile on his face that troublingly never matched his eyes, Hensler was nevertheless a good man, as things went.

He took his job as an advisor quite seriously, and I was a diligent student -eager to listen compared to my peers. So, I soaked up his time like a man hungry for knowledge. I spent time learning ‘noble etiquette’ a farce if I’ve ever seen one. But Hensler strived to teach me only the idealistic. I knew the mannerisms and principles he sought to impart upon me were not embodied by the nobles themselves, yet I embraced them as best I could. My pigheadedness when it came to diligently learning such mannerisms was rewarded in calls like the one on the street earlier. I walked taller and though I was busy, I still gave the barest amount of time to people on the street. My light pockets did not prevent me from generosity, and Katentin’s citizen’s took note. More than the citizens. There was a mixed reaction among the nobles competing in the coliseum. Many turned their noses up at the sight of me, the rarest few nodded their heads in acknowledgement of my efforts, but still refused to associate with me. Perhaps a few would have if I spent more time socializing with them…

So invested in my studied was I, that the concept of free time became foreign to me. I was only free when there was no instructor to spur me forwards. My determination to close the gap between myself and my peers frightened even myself at times, but then the pain of losing fights and duels to the ill-mannered bastards hardened my heart. The times when I was caught tongue-tied in conversation, and the moments when I considered myself to be lesser… Like undying embers, they burned hot in my stomach and spurred me forwards.

I knew few people outside those tasked with instructing me. Longsword, rapier, spear, and bow in the mornings, tutors in history, basic field medicine, tactics of war, and even philosophy when the sun was hottest, tending to the coliseum and caring for the weapons we trained with in the evenings. At times, what Hensler referred to as ethics classes were interjected into my lunch breaks, sound enough in concept, an extra layer of reformation for those of criminal background -though I daresay the nobles had more need for it, yet I did not see Pirveli there once. A flawed system, but one that allowed me to learn and to grow. So fast was my growth, especially in the realm of fighting, that Hensler had begun to reduce my time spent with the weapons masters and sparring.

Suddenly I found myself empty, with nothing else to do. I began to leave the coliseum then, and to see my brother once more. Just in time it seemed, for he began wedding plans that very day, and my free time for the rest of the week was spent helping him however I could. Mother and Father came for the wedding, and a great many others, including the queen herself. Though I had seen the princess, it was the first time I laid eyes on Queen Lidja. I made sure not to stare this time, but a quick glance told me all I needed to know. With a face made of hard planes and eyes sharper than shards of glass, she looked every bit as ferocious as the stories made her out to be. A gladiator queen, strong and swift. The kind of woman who does not let society tell her what she can and cannot do. Powerful and wise. She only stayed for a few brief moments, then true to her moniker, she coursed out of the pavilion and left the party behind like a restless lioness. As she departed, her dark eyes met mine and she looked me up and down before striding out.

It was strange to see my brother in such fancy garb. I looked down at myself and amended the thought. It was strange to dress fancily. Yet I would have dressed up even fancier had I known it would spread a smile over my parent’s faces. Mother and father beamed with pride. Both of their sons were there: Garent was getting married to a capable and beautiful merchant, while I had finally begun to mature and find a place in the world.

I wonder if they still saw the mischief maker of Orid-narr somewhere in me when they looked at me. Clothing, be it sharp, fancy, or frivolous, could only do so much to mask the nature of a person. However, it certainly can complement their nature, I thought as I looked at my brother. Always reliable. Always there for me. The best of men.

But regardless of however great he may be, after his wedding, he was too busy with Zana to have time for me. So much for always being there. But for him I had nothing but joy in my heart, to have married a woman that he loved, so kind and so fair. Mother and father also left, and so my long days were spent in the company of another.

Teofile.

Although… I never had the courage to give her my true name, and instead told her I was called Khaisar. Not a complete lie, but not entirely the truth. It was only the scavengers of Chereba that knew me by that name. I suppose I still harbored fear that she would not approve of my career, and my half-hearted efforts of courting her would be lost quicker than a dry leaf in autumn winds. My fear was not unfounded. The children she worked with were not school children or a series of apprentices. They were orphans. One day when I helped prepare an early dinner for the children, Teofile spoke of the feuds and violent backgrounds some of the children had come from. How it was the violence that took their parents from them. It was during that admonishment that the coliseum came up. A temple to blood, she called it. A place where women and men worshipped brutality and cruelty. She could not stand to assosciate with those who reveled in the harming of other souls and disfigurement of god given bodies. The healing baths of the heavens were mean for warriors who suffered injury in the defense of Tell, not injuries sustained for the pleasure of others. And so it was that she knew me as Khaisar. After her rant, I was doubly careful in keeping who I was a secret, though it made me uneasy to lie to her so.

My increasing closeness with Teofile was not the only happening of importance. As I tried to distance myself from the coliseum, I needed to find another place I could say I worked. But aside from what I learned of history and philosophy, my experience from childhood onwards was one of trouble. What was my occupation to be? Or rather, Khaisar’s occupation. At the time there was a greater difference between Khaisar and Gelas.

Khaisar was who I could have been. The laughs and time I shared with Teofile served as a respite from the rigor of the coliseum. Having said that, remorse never tore at me the way it would have normal people. In Chereba I fought and killed -even before Chereba. The weight of melancholy descended on me not from guilt of harming others, but from self-perceived unreliability and inconsideration of the few that tolerated, nay, loved me despite my nature.

I was not aware of the growing duality within me. Where I had not felt remorse before, and had been okay with it, now caught myself wondering if I truly was turning into a tyrant like I had once been labeled in Chereba. Am I a monster for killing people? Am I a monster for not feeling bad about ending a life? Because no matter how much I tried to care about the blood I spilled, I bore not a drop of regret. I found myself looking at my reflection for long periods of time, wondering who I was.

Perhaps had I met Teofile in Chereba, while I still fought and killed, her views on violence may have resonated more with me, but in Katentin? Gelas was enjoying himself. Like when he first rose to the top in Chereba. I loved every bit of my life in Katentin’s coliseum, and I would not change it for the world. Everything was provided, and I was like a fish in water. But this lake was big enough for me to grow.

It was thus that Khaisar’s appetite for peace found itself in conflict with my nature at the time. But like many of my problems, the resolution came in the form of an unavoidable greater problem that dwarfed the original, leaving it inconsequential in comparison. However, there is still time, and I have not yet discussed the third matter of importance -my meeting with Khatvari Vishder. Strange enough to meet a man with two first names, stranger still for him to be the leader of projects in a matriarch like Tell.

What projects you may ask?

Well, one sunny day after sharing a hearty lunch with Teofile and playing with the rest of the orphans (who had finally begun to take a liking to me), I went in search of a secondary occupation. I required a trade outside of blades so that there could be more to me than glorified gladiator. Unsure of where to start, and reluctant to reveal my plans to my brother, I walked through Katentin sniffing around for opportunity. Despite living in the city above the lake for over five months, its elegant peculiarities of artwork and color imposed over a regular layout of smooth cobbled streets still fascinated me. It was while marveling at the sturdy structures that a decision came to me. I wanted to be a part of the city, to build and to decorate. So, I resumed my journey, but this time with a clearer purpose: I set out to find those who constructed the fancy facades and white walls.

A word of advice, in the case that you have forgotten. Though Katentin is the most organized city, it is also the most difficult to find things -if you search for them on your own. Through sheer scale, searching for any one person becomes like trying to find a single cod in the open seas. Even worse when you do not know who the person is exactly, or their appearance. So, my advice is this: go to the largest market and look for the old men sitting in their chairs and chatting with their peers. Look around as though you are lost, then slowly turn to one of them, and ask in a voice loud enough for other passersby to hear, “Do you know where so and so is?” or in my case, “How can I find the men who built Katentin?”

And soon enough they will answer. If the man you asked does not know, he will shout to his friend working across the street. The trick to making this work, is going to the old vendor with the most honest face, though that was hardly an issue in the City Above the Lake. Work it did, and the directions were shouted towards me from over the crowd. “Head to north boulevard, walking towards the castle, then take a left at the crouching tiger fountain, past old Lenare’s corner bookshop. Walk for three minutes then take another left before you get to the setting mural of red and orange, then your first right, and you will find it on your left. Khatvari lives on the fifth floor of that building.”

“Thank you!” I called back to the voice.

Next to me the old man I had originally asked for directions studied me from under his bushy white eyebrows. “You haven’t got a clue what they said do you?”

I scratched the back of my head and replied, “Well I understood it all well enough, but I worry that I will forget by the time I get to Lenare’s corner bookshop. I figure I can ask her if I forget though.”

“That’s good, tell her Ramazi sent you if she asks.” He said, nodding his head.

Glancing at the sign above his stall, I read, ‘Ramazi’s Rice.’ I bowed hurriedly in thanks and made my way from the western markets to the flowing north boulevard. My steps were long, and my feet moved quickly, a foreign urgency spurring me forwards for reasons I could not pinpoint. Excitement? Apprehension? Hope? Perhaps a combination of the three and then some more. I flew past the blocks of houses, moving faster than everyone else, but I did not run and was still far to slow for my liking. Just as I began to worry if I had somehow passed the fountain, it came into view. I turned left past Lenare’s and walked until I reached the red and orange setting mural, where I turned left once more, but when I strode down the back street, I saw no right turn to be taken, only another left. Stopping dead in my tracks, I spun around in confusion.

Where was I, did the directions mislead me? No, I must have taken a wrong left, or maybe it is around here and Ramazi’s friend added an unnecessary turn… My feet moved again, but this time it was slowly looking around. I meandered down the bend, taking the left at the end of the back street and coming across another left. The tall buildings on either side of me loomed high, blocking the heat of the sun but casting deep shadows. Only from the divisions between the structures light was allowed through in thin rays. I took the next left as well, and down that street I saw the sun shining down old man lazing outside the steps to the front of an apartment with a pipe in his hand. He was the sole individual I had seen since turning at the fountain, and I approached him. So as not to startle the old man, I let my feet slap against the ground while walking. He cracked open an eye and squinted towards me. Taking a puff from his pipe, he closed his eyes again and relaxed.

I got closer and before stopping, I asked, “Excuse me, do you know where I can find Khatvari?”

“Who?” He replied, studying me with keen eyes.

“Khatvari, isn’t he the one who built Katentin?” I offered.

“Is he now? Never heard of him.” He said brusquely, with hardly a pause between my question and his answer.

I nodded then, it was obvious he either did not know or took offence to his peace being interrupted.

“Good day.” I said and walked off, tracing my steps back until I reached the bookstore. As I entered, a bell sounded at the door as the scent of parchment, leather and books filled my nose. It was a foreign pairing but surprisingly delightful. Surrounded by the shelves of books, I was reminded of Katentin’s wealth and stopped for a moment. My eyes traced the different bindings and caught phrases from the embellished writing along the spines. Most books were large, but a few were also small. Despite knowing nothing of the process in making them, I still grasped an inkling of their worth. From the materials to the research and time spent scribing, a single one of these books could represent the life’s work of a person. Yet here I was standing between shelves of them.

“Hello?” A soft voice called out.

I started, realizing I had been standing silent marveling at my surroundings for far too long.

“Yes, hello” I replied, finding my way to the voice.

Stooped over a book hovered a head of short white curls. As I approached the tall table she sat at, the ancient woman whom I presumed to be Lenare looked up at me from behind thin spectacles.

I met her gaze and asked, “Madam Lenare, I was looking for Khatvari and Ramazi said you could point me in the right direction.”

“Did he now?” She answered.

I nodded once. Her eyes unfocused for a moment as she pondered. Then her face whipped back to me, and I could swear there was a devilish gleam in her eye as she repeated the directions I had been given earlier. She added to them, “It is the building with the archway behind the stoop. When you exit from here back down the street, make sure you do not pass the mural. You should take the fourth left, not the fifth. But even if you do, you can remedy that with another two lefts. Knock on the door with purpose, and if it is not answered after seven tries, he may not be there.”

Seven tries?? What sort of anti-social, people-hating recluse won’t answer a door unless a person stands there knocking for so long? But I kept my questions to myself and after taking a second to thank her, I was back on the street. Her directions had been quite clear and before I knew it, I was in the building and outside the door to the flat.

I knocked.

The sound echoed through the stairwell.

I knocked again.

Still no sound from behind the stout wood.

My knuckles rapped against the door a third time.

Discomfort began to well from inside me.

Then a fourth.

I started to doubt whether this was a good idea at all. Perhaps I would only knock once more…

And a fifth.

Hells, I am already here, I can knock again.

As I raised my hand to beat the poor door for a sixth time, it opened, and I saw a pair of keen eyes look up at me.

“You!” I cried.

His eyes widened for a moment as he recognized me, then without sparing another second he slammed the door.

Only, the door did not close.

I strode in, blowing past the door like thunder. The tiredness from searching and frustration from getting lost made me impatient. And to see that this was the man who had been sitting smoking his pipe not over half an hour ago? Fury welled within me, flaring, then all at once it vanished. The grumpy man that had studied me with sharp eyes was gone, sprawled on the floor was a frail old man with fear contorting his features.

I do not know what possessed me to barge in so, and at once I felt ashamed. I fled, closing the door behind me, and I was halfway down the stairs when I remembered his curt answer to my question earlier. Who is Khatvari. Old bastard… I shook my head. Still, I had grudging admiration for his attitude. That said, who was he to treat me with such disdain?

I marched back up the stairs and knocked at the door for the sixth time. Khatvari opened the door and looked at me with a harsh frown, “Going to force your way in again?”

“I will if you do not give me thirty minutes of your time.” I stated.

As he paused and considered, I knocked for the seventh time, this time on the open door.

His face seemed to ask, what was that for? I shrugged and said, “A kind lady told me to knock seven times.”

Khatvari sighed, “Lenare? Oh, why am I even asking, of course its Lenare. Kind lady, more like mischievous old hag.”

He opened the door wider, “Come on in then.”

I had not noticed earlier but the flat was a mess. There were three, no, four classifications of items that I could see strewn about. Papers, materials, books, and models.

“What is it you wanted to talk about?” He asked, sitting among the strewn about items, not bothering to clear a space for me to sit. Before I answered, I cleared a space for myself. Mother would have been appalled, but I was far from home. Setting aside the papers as though they were a fragile newborn babe, I hunkered down.

“Teach me.”

He snorted. “Teach you?”

I looked at him seriously.

He paused, considering. Then with a sickly sweet smile, he answered.

“No.”