Merkus

The sector bell rang for the second time that morning, three loud clangs that marked the end of sunrise. Addy, as unconcerned by the echoing dins as she would be a loud and petulant child, observed the burnt patches on Farian's tunic with a glee that deafened her to the pervasive chimes. I smiled, suspecting what was to come.

Long before Farian ducked under the doorway and entered the room, a mumble of complaints more indistinct than quiet announced his approach. He looked at us in turn, his countenance promising conflict and humor capriciously, fluctuating between the confusion of his creased brow and the merriment of his raised cheeks. He sniffed the air, trying to identify the mingling scents of burnt fabric and cooked eggs, and when his gaze came upon his charred tunic, his furrowed brow came stuck.

“Woman!” A single, loping stride ate the distance between him and Addy. He snatched his tunic from the drying rack and inspected the damage. “How could you?”

A grinning Addy stared up at Farian, unperturbed. “Please don’t dismiss my talent for destruction, else I might begin to feel unappreciated.”

“Do not play with me, Woman. Do you aim to displease?” Farian pointed a calloused finger down at her, close enough to brush the tip of her aquiline nose. “I expect a clean home, two meals a day, and my clothes washed and dried without damage. Can a man not expect this from his wife? Must I abstain from hiring help, spend all day attending to my duties, and then come home to domestic drudgery?” Farian was a simple man. Not the dull-witted simple of a hopeless fool, but the obstinate simple of a man who viewed the world in the antiquated patterns of ‘shoulds’ and ‘should-nots.’

Addy crossed her arms. “I’d watch my words if I were you, Dear.”

“Am I wrong?” Farian asked. “Are you not my wife?”

“Are you sure you are not mine?” Addy retorted.

“Preposterous!” Spittle flew from Farian's mouth, his frustration clear to see, but he had a deep well where he kept such things. One calming breath later, his anger faded, buried by a quiet acquiescence.

“Your earnings are feeble against my own. A pittance, really. Only by royal edict do you keep your role as reeve. Now, you overgrown halfwit, I suggest you apologize.” Addy delivered her insults flatly, her mischievous smile offsetting the harsh words. She was calm. Always calm. Rarely in expression but invariably in composure.

Farian’s arms fell to his side, the whole scene reminiscent of the puppet plays I used to see performed for children in the Roots: The big, bad antagonist falling to the cunning machinations of a physically inferior but whimsically guileful adversary. Funny, how deceiving appearances can be.

Noticing the conclusion of their entertaining antics nearing, I left, just about on time to be as late as I wanted to be.

The preparatory academy had moved from beside the sector office to a new site nearer The Roots. Built with larger windows and paler stone—a custom that prompted imitation into parody and painted The Bark and Roots in a dissonance of brown shades—the new building was a stark contrast to the old.

Upon entering the courtyard, I spied Aki limping up the front steps, slow and steady and wincing as he went. The old boots I‘d given him were gone, one foot bare to the morning chill, the other wrapped in a bloody strip of cloth. He was late. Not by much, but he was late. His fifth offense. I couldn't let that happen. I was a little late on purpose; I was going to be a little later for his.

I barged into the class near its end, a full turn or so after Aki. Every eye turned my way. Sunlight flooded the room, and, for a moment, my absent ego allowing, I thought some god or other might’ve been shining a light on us to better watch the impending spectacle.

Mistress Leahne stood at the head of the class, disdain spoiling her pretty face. “Finally decided to show yourself? Has no one ever told you the importance of being on time? This academy, granted to you by the graciousness of our beloved gods, is a privilege. Do you know what you squander? Can you even fathom the world outside your mother's bosom? No, you can’t. Now tell me, without fanciful trimmings, why you are late.”

I was ready for this verbal landslide. She had used a similar ploy against Janus—a lanky boy born to one of the wealthiest families in The Roots. He had crumpled under her assertive barrage, his jovial jests beaten into nervous sputterings. I remember the delight she hid under her scowl of disappointment when he somberly walked back to his seat, defeated. He’d stopped speaking to Aki and me that day.

Leahne had been trying to antagonize me into espousing her zealous beliefs since she’d joined the academy. Worshipping godlings felt wrong. More than that, I was incapable of even trying, the mere thought repulsive, the mere consideration antithetical to my very being. My only choice was to stop her futile attempts at indoctrination. She had her blind faith. I had my stubborn perseverance. We would see which held victory.

A soft smile danced on my lips, my confidence giving it a tune. “I am always late on principle, Mistress. The principle being that punctuality is a thief of power.”

Her jaw tensed. Nostrils flared. A thick vein on her temple pulsed.

Murmurs broke out among my fellow students, who, unaware of the hidden jest, were more receptive to her reaction than to my act of rebellion. Janus stared wide-eyed before he began a raucous laugh that spread through the room like wildfire. Edon looked about, unsure of what was happening. A haggard Aki smiled knowingly, the only one besides the mistress able to gauge the depths of my insult.

“You,” she snarled, elongating the word. “Out!”

The room fell silent, afraid of attracting her attention.

“Might I inquire as to why?” I asked.

“Out!”

I shrugged and left the room.

It wasn’t long before I heard Headmaster Pakur’s approach. Getting here from his office took him far less time than his sizeable weight had any right to. He squelched along the hallway, sweat-stained, fat rolling out of tight cuffs and a buttoned collar.

“Merkus Farian. I see I’ve you to thank for this.” He was utterly indifferent to the repugnance he inspired. And though he chided, I suspected he was sincere in his thanks.

“A simple misunderstanding, Headmaster.” I bowed, high enough to have a whiff of disrespect, low enough he would consider it unworthy of comment. “My interpretation of subjects greater than my station sometimes cause problems I am too lowly to foresee.”

“That’s one of the reasons you are here, young Merkus.” He paid me no more mind, opening the door that separated him from his infatuation. “You called, Mistress Leahne?”

“Master Pakur, I beg your pardon, but may I ask you to spare me a moment to end the class.” She smiled, all polite and fake and controlled.

“Yes, of course,” Pakur said.

Soon the students ambled from the room in quiet disorder, slowly disappearing towards their next class. Aki limped past, the last of them. From the tired smile hiding his frustration, I knew he knew the why of what I’d done—so often did he consider help from another a failure on his part.

Pakur shifted into the doorway almost before Aki managed to go through, forcing Leahne to press against him as she followed.

Leahne faced me but addressed the headmaster. “I’m reaching the ends of my patience with Farian, Master Pakur. He is indolent and has little to no respect for his betters. I wish him to be removed from my class and subjected to an early assessment.”

“Tell me of his offense,” Pakur said. “If it merits what you seek, I will consent to your recommendations.” He stepped closer and murmured into her ear, unconcerned that I could hear his every word. “But remember, Mistress, Merkus is son to Adeenas. The council will have both our heads before they offend an adjudicator.” Pakur ran his hand down her arm like a man caresses his lover: soft, delicate, and utterly shameless.

“I think it best we continue without his presence,” Leahne said. “I see no reasons he should be here for the deliberation.”

“If I may, Headmaster,” I said, “I would like to—”

Pakur raised a hand. “Mistress Leahne is right, young Merkus. You should not be privy to discussions regarding your punishment. Run along to your next class. I will send word of my decision.”

“I simply—”

“Merkus,” Pakur cut me off. “Leave.”

“As you say, Headmaster,” I said, giving him a lesser bow than my last.

The penultimate bell rang to signify the end of the day. Students erupted, eager to escape the ennui of education. Aki, Edon, and I waited for the room to empty before we made our way out.

“Why do you feel the need to provoke her?” Aki asked.

Aki was a sickly boy. I call him boy because he was a year my junior and looked younger still. Dangerously emaciated and more than a head shorter than I, he was often mistaken for a child—an observation he cared little for. I called him sickly because he was afflicted with the violence of a broken home—covered in scars, scaled with dry blood, and limping in pain as he was.

“You know me,” I said. “I only attack to defend.”

Aki looked away, embarrassed, and, to my surprise, a little angry. He was rarely angry.

“She isn't so bad,” Edon said, taking out a bread roll from his satchel. “In truth, I’d say she’s one of the better instructors.”

“Good enough you’d resist finding humor at her expense?” I asked.

Edon burst into laughter. The slightest reminder of the incident always trapped him in a fit of mirth. Granted, the way her clothes clung to her lithe form was a sight to behold. But hilarious? I thought not. Aki and I only laughed because he did. Edon had that deep, rhythmic, bellow of a laugh that persuaded others to follow.

“How long are you planning to keep this up?” Aki asked. “It’s all getting a little out of hand.”

“But did you see her face? The surprise? The rage?”

“I understand,” he said, and I knew he did as surely as I knew who placed the zephyr matrix that left the mistress indecent. He’d spent a fortnight accumulating enough sensus to power it. “And quoting from The Old Queen’s speech was a nice touch, I’ll give you that, but you’re just so needlessly…you with her.” He ruffled the back of his head, a chronic symptom of his irritation.

“And who but myself am I meant to be?”

“Ah, forget it,” he finally lamented, giving up for the sake of avoiding my reticent participation. He was timid that way, a sort of verbal pacifist if you like.

“That’s why,” I said.

“What’s why?” Aki asked.

“The answer to your question—or at least the first part.”

“The first?”

“Yes, there are three parts to it. Our conversation alluded to the first. The second is a study on startling others. There are two ways to go about it. Either you create the unanticipated, or you divert the anticipated, which might sound the same but aren’t. Both I enjoy, but the latter—which inherently involves the former and is, therefore, the greater of the two—is like a succulent slab of boar meat to the hunger that is my boredom.”

“Quite a lengthy explanation for something that amounts to, I get bored.”

I shrugged. “Boredom is life’s torture.”

Aki barked a laugh that ended in a wince. “Most would say pain is life’s torture, but I suppose pain is a symptom of the mind and no mind is alike, least of all yours.”

“Indeed,” I said, chuckling at his disguised insult. He’d all but called me unhinged and managed to make it sound like a compliment. That’s how deftly smart he was. Prodigiously talented and surprisingly stubborn—enough to spite his age and upbringing—fortune had given him a mind like no other, then birthed him in The Muds with a less-than-useless father like it thought to balance his boons.

“And the third?” Aki asked.

“The third is simple. She irritates me.”

“Why? Or better yet, how?”

I shrugged, unwilling to answer. I had long since given up on ridding him of his respect for gods and their ilk.

“Fine,” he said. “But soon the cost of your actions may be more than you’re willing to pay.”

“No, my friend, you are thinking about it all wrong. Remember my first reason? Better to mention price than cost. Cost is a matter of sacrifice; price is a matter of value.”

I took off my boots at the bottom of the steps. Aki raised both hands as though to protect himself from my intention.

“Too stubborn to accept another gift?” I asked.

“Too proud to accept more pity.” There was a look in his eyes that told me not to question him.

“Think it a loan then, if you will. I need them less than you do, and we are friends, are we not?”

Aki looked down at his feet. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“And as a friend, you would do the same for me, would you not?”

“I would.”

“Then…?”

The shame he felt as I put them on for him put color back into his pallid complexion, and though he let me, no words could rid him of his blushing.

We went our separate ways then, Aki east to The Muds, Edon west to The Branches, and I to the keeper’s station to face my punishment.

“Back again, Young Merkus,” Roche croaked in that spry and jovial way he had. Old as he may have been, pock-marked and hunched, Roche was quick with his duties and quicker with a kind word.

“It appears the weight bands and I are destined,” I said. “How’s everything?”

“Well enough, my boy.”

“So, have you any news on my punishment? I suppose I should be looking at daily standings for the rest of my time here?”

“He’d settled on two turns for a fortnight.”

“I was expecting—"

“But that’s not all.” He leaned out of the window of his station and waved a slow hand to usher me closer. “He said you’ll be doing your standing in Mistress Leahne’s room. He was drooling as he said so, laddie. I swear it.”

I laughed. “No need to swear it, Old Roche. I believe it as easily as I would’ve if I’d seen it myself.”

Old Roche bent down below the ridge of his window, pulling up a band and laying it on his counter.

Leahne sat at her desk, staring out of the window and watching lanterns flicker on across the academy walls as night descended. She wore muted colors cut and tailored to extenuate her delicate curves, the small accents of blue in her clothes and the golden earrings dangled behind her hair the only distinction against her otherwise simple attire.

I shook my head and stopped my eyes from roaming her figure, exasperated; I didn’t much like it when my body told me things I’d rather not hear—especially when it was too loud to ignore. As much as her zealous beliefs repulsed my humble emotions, the repugnance accompanied an undercurrent of desire that sometimes abated and sometimes flowed into my aversion, a cyclical thing whereby my attraction fed my dislike by its unwelcome presence, seeking to trap me in a cycle of disgust and yearning.

Knocking on the open door, I entered and took position near the front of the room, putting the band down next to me. Leahne cast a glare my way, her animosity bared naked in the absence of witnesses.

“Put the band on, Farian,” she said. “You are here for a standing.”

“The hourglass, Mistress.”

“Are you refusing to follow my command.”

I could kill her, I thought, but the sensible part of me weighed the consequences and hushed the urge.

“Headmaster Pakur had conceded to your request to supervise my punishment but made no concession in regards to the punishment itself,” I said. “I find it rather odd you expect me to follow your commands when you so flagrantly dismiss those of your superior.”

She smiled. “Some progress at last. It is good you’ve come to accept me as your superior.”

“I’ve long since accepted that you think you are.”

There was no outburst, no outward explosion of fury, just a blank look where a smile had been. She reached down and pulled an hourglass from below her desk. I put the horseshoe-shaped band on around my neck. She pressed her will into the matrix, causing the weight to grow exponentially, then waited a few moments before turning the hourglass. She waited even longer when she had to turn it again halfway through my punishment.

When the last grain of sand from the second turn fell down the hourglass’ throat, Leahne released her hold on the matrix and walked around her desk, pronouncing her sensus into an aura of persuasion, unaware I was immune to her rustling tunnels. “Do you know why I dislike you? Your dissidence is sickening. It infects all your thoughts, darkens all your actions, makes you…”

“I—"

“Your absolute disregard for our rules, our customs, our gods, appalls me. You have no reason to be the way you are but for the childish need for rebellion. On the precipice of adulthood, and yet you still cling to such infantile notions. Why?”

I kept the answer to myself. Blasphemy in the presence of the pious is never a productive course of action.

“Tell me, what do you wish to take away from your time here.”

“Nothing.”

“That is very short-sighted of you.”

“Depends. Assuming academies are here to prepare us, I reckon I know enough to get by.”

“Why get by when you can excel?”

I shrugged. “I was trying to be modest.”

My answer earned me a snort and no more; she knew better than to deny my claim.

“Have you ever heard the story of the father and son and their mule?” I asked.

“Is the story an answer.”

“Of a sort. Do you know it?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Long ago, before the gods descended, there was a father and son who lived on a farm. One year, as they prepared to bring what was left of their summer haul to the city for trade, a haul more abundant than they’d ever reaped, they discovered only one of their mules was free to ride, the rest too burdened by the goods strapped to their backs. The father, a good father, kind and loving and generous, offered his son the seat.

“As they traveled, they come across a group of fellow farmers. The farmers asked the son, ‘How can you ride the mule and leave your poor father walking the journey in his old age?’ The son, feeling guilty, switched with his father.

“Again they started back on the road to the city, and again they ran into a group. This group asked the father, ‘How can you ride the mule and leave your poor son walking the journey?’ Left with no other option, both father and son walked beside the mule as they continued.

“For a third time, they come across another group of fellow farmers. This group asked them, ‘How can you have a mule you can ride, and not ride it?’”

“Is that to say you do not care what I think?” she asked.

“No, not at all. It is precisely because you are wrong that I care what you think.” And with that, I took off the band and departed.