4. Coming-of-Age (KoS)

Luc struggled. Sweat dripped down his face, falling into the dirt below. His core burned, and his arms trembled, muscles quaking against his will. His body ached, begging him to give up, to give in.

Veins stood out on his face as it burned red from sheer effort. Tendons stood rigid on his neck. No! I refuse. Not here! Not when I’m so close!

He grit his teeth and pushed. “Four… hundred… ninety-eight!”

For a few seconds, Luc let himself rest, holding the pushup position. The ground loomed, mocking him. He swallowed back his spit and breathed heavily. Two more. I can do it!

A shadow fell over him. A familiar form plopped down on the stump beside him, clutching a pile of books. “There you are. The Matron’s looking for you.”

“Is she?” Luc grunted. He lowered himself again.

Yvon nodded. “It’s our birthday. We turn fifteen today.”

“That’s… nice. Did the Duke invite us to… tea?” Luc managed, struggling to catch his breath. He pushed up, arms burning, core on fire, back relieved temporarily in the high position. One more.

Yvon sighed. “You musclehead. We graduate from the Institute when we turn fifteen, don’t you remember? We’re adults now. It’s time to go out into the world!”

“Oh… right!” Luc lowered himself again. The ground trembled. His vision shook. His hands ached, the grit and pebbles digging into his palms.

Yvon sat on his back. Luc’s arms gave out, and he fell to the earth. “Yvon!”

“Come on. The Matron’s been looking for you for hours. You know how she gets!”

“I was almost done!” he argued. He shoved Yvon off him and climbed upright, dusting down his clothes. “Dammit. I was so close to finally breaking five hundred pushups…”

“You know you get diminishing returns from repeatedly doing one single exercise, right? Rather than five hundred straight pushups, you’d be better off taking a break and doing other techniques, then circling back to the pushups as part of a routine,” Yvon advised, dusting off his rear end as he climbed to his feet.

“What would you know?” Luc asked, giving his friend a long look.

In the past three years, Luc had sweated and struggled, ran and lifted weights, done pushups, situps, pullups, and any other ups he could come up with. His gangly body, mid-growth spurt, sported a healthy layer of muscle and tanned skin from long hours outdoors. Long hours in the sun bleached his blond curls almost white on the top, despite the undertones steadily darkening to a burnished gold. His hands sported callouses from sparring with the guards. No one had taken him as an apprentice, but when he hung around their training grounds long enough, sometimes they’d fight him for fun, and he had come to understand the fundamentals of swordfighting from watching and sparring with them. The wooden sword he wore at his hip bore testament to his secret practices fighting trees in the woods, the wood scarred and chipped.

Yvon, on the other hand, remained as whip-slender as he had when he was younger. Though they’d stood the same height when they were younger, Luc was now taller than Yvon, Yvon yet to attain his growth spurt. Wavy dark hair hid his eyes and hung around his ears, the end caught in a short ponytail. Every time Luc saw him, he clutched a new set of ever-heavier tomes, and yet, his arms sported barely any muscle, soft and pale as mushroom flesh.

“Knowledge is power. It’s a fool’s errand to challenge the mages at their own game. You’ll never surpass a Guerre in strength, but there is no god of knowledge. The playing field is level,” Yvon replied, smirking.

“And how will that knowledge do, when you face down a monster in the wilds?” Luc asked, raising an eyebrow at Yvon.

“Ah, but you’ve misunderstood. I would never go alone into the wilds in the first place! My knowledge has taught me the ideal formation for forging the wilds. I would bring a bunch of mages, ideally Chassers and a heavy-hitter like a Guerre or, dare I hope, a Terre, then hire an iron-sided coach, obviously,” Yvon replied, sticking his nose in the air.

Luc lunged at him. Taken by surprise, Yvon crashed to the ground. His books went flying. He struggled, but Luc straddled Yvon, pinned Yvon’s arms under his legs, and drew his sword, holding the wooden blade at Yvon’s throat. Dark hair flew back from Yvon’s face, revealing deep circles around his eyes and skin so pale the veins stood out through it.

“So? How did your knowledge help you there?” Luc asked.

“Unhand me, you brute,” Yvon grumbled, annoyed.

“Do you admit it? Your knowledge is useless before brute strength!” Luc cheered, pleased with himself.

Yvon twisted fiercely under him. Startled, Luc’s leg slipped off Yvon’s arm. His friend bucked up and punched him in the crotch. Luc squealed and fell back, hands over his tender part. Freed, Yvon shoved Luc back and kneeled atop him, pressing his knee into the soft space in the center of his stomach where his ribcage rose upward.

Luc’s eyes went wide. He struggled to breathe, but the weight kept his chest from expanding. Desperately, he twisted under Yvon, but Yvon held his grip, stronger than his soft body would suggest. “Knowledge, my friend. Brute force is nothing before it.”

Face red, Luc tapped on the ground twice. Yvon stood, and he sat upright, gasping a breath. “You—you punched me in the dick!”

“Well, of course. I’d be a moron to face you in a fair fight,” Yvon replied lightly.

“That doesn’t count as a win. You cheated.”

Yvon shook his head. “What did I just say?”

“Luc! Yvon!” a woman shouted, exasperation coming out in her voice.

The two exchanged a glance. Luc jumped to his feet, and they hurried toward her, Luc brushing himself down, Yvon gathering his books. Together, they raced around the edge of the Institute toward its front entrance.

Three stories tall, the Institute loomed high above them. Prim white-painted wooden walls shone in the sun, kept white by hours of their and the other orphans’ hard work scrubbing and painting them. Brown shutters flanked numerous windows, open to let the sunlight stream in. The boys rushed through a banged-up back door into a clean interior, white walls and wooden floors both spotless.

This level held the dining room, the kitchen, the living room, and the study. Even now, children wandered around the living room, playing with old but clean toys, and toiled in the kitchen, preparing the next meal. Above them were the bedrooms, girls on the left, boys on the right. At night, they’d be locked in so there’d be no, as the Matron put it, cross-pollinating.  The third floor held the offices and the observatory, a creaky old circular room with a rounded glass ceiling that perpetually leaked in the rain. The Matron fought to have it removed every year, but the Duke paid for the Institute and insisted it stay. As some of the oldest and fittest orphans, Luc and Yvon had spent many hours on the roof scurrying over the glass, re-caulking the panels, fixing the supports, and polishing the windows until they shone.

Now, the Matron descended from the narrow spiral staircase that led to the upper floors and observatory, frowning fiercely at the two. Her stern face took on a yet sterner expression at the sight of their dirty forms. Her white-and-brown uniform, perfectly starched and devoid of blemish, and her dark auburn bun, now shot through with gray, bobbled as she hurried down the stairs. Heavyset, but strong, she ruled the Institute with an iron fist, and even the largest, wildest children had no option but to respect her.

With an accusatory tone, she leveled a finger at Yvon. “Where did you run off to? You weren’t even in the observatory!”

“I went to fetch Luc,” Yvon responded.

“And ended up this dirty? What did you two do, take a dust bath? Gods, you’re not wild stallions, no matter how much you two act like it.” the Matron asked, exhausted.

“Stallions? I’ve never even touched—” Yvon interjected.

The Matron waved him away. “Never mind, never mind. The Duke’s come to see your graduation. Hurry on upstairs and get changed. It wouldn’t do for him to see you two this filthy. He’ll think I’m not bathing you, and then what would I do?”

“He’s seen us dirty before,” Luc replied, scruffing the dirt out of his curls.

The Matron stared, aghast, though whether at his statement or the new dust coating her spotless floors, Luc couldn’t say. “Upstairs, upstairs and on with you, before I lose the last of my wits!”

Exchanging a glance and a sigh, Luc and Yvon jogged up the stairs to their bedroom.

Only a half-dozen beds stood in this room, most of them empty. The Institute hadn’t operated at full capacity for years. It wasn’t uncommon for younger orphans to be adopted by families wanting farm hands, and between that and the usual childhood ailments, only he and Yvon remained of the thirteen-and-ups, confined to their own room.

A clean set of clothes, devoid of any patches and brand-new, laid out on their beds. At the sight of it, Luc smiled. A last gift from the Matron.

For all that she worked them hard and ran a tight ship, quick with the switch when a child got out of hand, and for all that Luc knew that switch better than most, the Matron kept the Institute fair and honest, kept them fed and dressed, and made sure they received an education. In her own way, she cared for them. Under her steady hand, many children had passed through the Institute and on to productive lives of their own.

Looking at the clothes, a well of warmth rose up in Luc’s heart. Even if my parents didn’t want me, someone still cares.

“What’re you standing around smiling for? Hurry up, before she gets the paddle!” Yvon urged, already half-changed.

Luc stripped out of his clothes and changed quickly, rolling the dusty clothes into a neat ball. All his worldly possessions awaited him at the foot of the bed, already packed into a small canvas bag. There wasn’t much. The scraps of the blanket he’d been found in. A change of underclothes. He lifted it, and it jangled slightly. Furrowing his brows, Luc reached inside and found a small bag of coins. Tugging it open revealed a few silvers and coppers. Not much, but enough to keep him afloat for a while.

“Payment for your employment here, keeping this damned hut clean and running,” the Matron said from the door. Luc jumped, startled. She gestured them on, not a hint of a smile on her face. “Come along, let’s not keep the Duke waiting.”

“Thank you,” Luc said, putting the coins back away.

She waved him away. “Nonsense. You earned those.”

With that, she bustled away, sweeping back downstairs.

Luc slung his bundle over his shoulder and followed her, while Yvon balanced his atop his books.

“Still planning to go to the city?” Yvon asked, glancing at Luc.

Luc nodded. “I don’t want to spend my whole life in this country town. I want to explore the world, see everything it has to offer. Maybe I’ll join the army or the navy, or sign with the expeditionary corps and go off to settle the distant edges of the wilds, but one way or another, I can’t see everything from within these walls.”

Yvon nodded quietly.

“After all this time, I’m ready to be free of these walls!” Luc said, rolling his shoulders. He nudged Yvon, almost toppling the smaller boy. “You too, right?”

Yvon shrugged.

Surprised by the lukewarm response, Luc frowned at him. “What? Don’t tell me…”

“Hurry, hurry along now,” the Matron urged, shuttling them toward the front door. Usually, no one was allowed to use the front door, out of fear they might chip the flawless red paint or ding up the wood, but today, the Matron led them through it, out onto the stairs.

A carriage drew up, rattling over the cobblestones. As it rolled to a stop, Andre hopped out of the driver’s seat. He tossed a wink at the boys as he set the stairs, then opened the door. “The Duke of Terre, Duke Jerome.”

“Luc! Yvon! Wonderful to see you,” Duke Jerome greeted them as he limped out of the carriage. Andre offered him a hand, and he steadied himself and hopped down the last steps with his good leg, bad leg dragging after him as usual.

Despite the passing years and the fresh gray strands in the Matron’s hair, Duke Jerome remained as youthful as he had always looked for as long as Luc could remember. Looking at him now, Luc couldn’t help but wonder: One day, will I be old and grizzled like Andre, while he still remains young?

Yvon walked over to the Duke’s side and looked up at him. “I’m ready.”

Luc frowned at him, then the Duke.

Duke Jerome gave him a warm smile. “I’ve come to make an offer, Luc. I could use more guards at my estate. Why, it’s quite laughable right now, my staff, just me and Andre and Madeline. I know you to be an honest, hard-working young man. You could travel alongside me and act as my bodyguard on long trips, when I must leave Le-Voux for diplomacy’s sake, or when I’m summoned by the King, or whatever might happen, and act as a town guard while we’re in Le-Voux. What do you say?”

Luc blinked. “I…”

“Yvon has already agreed to join my staff as a scholar and accountant. He’ll take quite a load off Madeline’s work, I can already tell,” the Duke said, beaming at Yvon.

Yvon nodded back, serious. “I’ll do my best.”

The Duke extended a hand to Luc. “Come join us.”

Luc stared at his hand. Yvon is staying with the Duke? He’s going to become a member of the Duke’s household, and never leave Le-Voux? “Yvon…?”

“Leaving was your dream. I’m well aware of my lack of strength. At the end of the day, I don’t want to face monsters and horrid creatures in the wilds. I’d rather stay safe at home, cozy up with a book, and read about the world,” Yvon said, shaking his head.

“But I… always thought,” Luc stumbled.

“I never agreed to go along with you, Luc. That was always your presumption,” Yvon replied quietly. He looked up, flicking his bangs out of his face. “I won’t get in the way of your dream, but please don’t drag me along, either.”

Luc swallowed. He stumbled back, clutching his bag tightly. A job as the Duke’s guard. I could only dream of getting a job like that in the capitol. Rightfully, a Guerre or Chasser should have that honor, not a commoner like me! The Duke does travel, too, however occasionally it might be. It might be a bit slower, but I’d still get to see the world. And in high style and comfort, too. Plus, it’s the Duke. He’s a good person. And Yvon will be there, too, and Andre, and Madeline and her sweets, though… I could do without her tea.

Luc turned, gazing at the Duke’s mansion, far away atop a hill. I…

No! I’m only getting this offer because I know the Duke, not because I’m a good fighter or worthy of the position. I don’t want to be coddled my whole life, kept by the nobility because it pleases them. Guard the Duke, is that a joke? The Duke is the most powerful earth mage on the continent. Who does he need to be guarded from, that a mere commoner like me could help with? I’d only be a figurehead. A fake in a guard’s uniform, strung along, a hanger-on for everyone to laugh at.

I’ll never become stronger that way.

I’ll never be able to face Emilie on even footing.

Firmly, Luc shook his head. He bowed formally and said, “I’m honored that you’d offer me such a position, but I must refuse.”

“Luc, are you sure?” Yvon asked, leaning in.

“I won’t get in the way of your dream, but don’t drag me along, either,” Luc replied stiffly.

Pain flashed over Yvon’s face, but quickly vanished. He nodded, understanding, but said nothing.

The Duke laughed. He clapped Luc on the back as he lifted him from his bow. “I thought so. You want to see the world, don’t you? Well, I won’t begrudge you that. But I’ll always remain your ally, no matter what happens. Never forget that, Luc. And if you grow tired of this world and need a place to rest… my manor is always open to you.”

Luc bowed again. Words jumbled in his mouth, mixing up on the inside. He hesitated a long moment, then finally stuttered out, “I… th, thank you.”

“It’s Emilie, isn’t it,” Yvon accused him abruptly.

“Huh?” Luc asked, taken aback.

“You want to find Emilie. You’re in love with her,” Yvon said, crossing his arms. Smugly, he shook his head at Luc. “Ah, how pitiful, this impossible love between a high-flung member of House Guerre and a lowly commoner!”

“It’s—it’s not like that at all!” Luc bit back, but stumbled over his words a little. I do want to see Emilie again, but—but to best her in battle, not to—not because I’m in love! Yvon is being ridiculous. How could I be in love when I haven’t seen her since we were twelve?

That memory flashed through his mind, still as fresh as the day it had happened. Emilie, pressed up against the tiny window of an iron-sided carriage, waving desperately as it rattled down the road. Beside him, Yvon turned away, pretending not to care, but Luc waved until the carriage was out of sight.

“She’s a member of House Guerre proper, now that she’s awakened as a mage. She needs training that only the main house in the capitol can provide. I’m sure she’ll be back one day,” the Duke had assured them.

And yet, three long years had passed without the slightest hint from Emilie. No letters, no visits, no signs. Even on the midwinter holiday to say farewell to the last of the harvest and usher in spring, she sent no greetings. Even on the midsummer celebration of the rightful slaying of the last tyrannical King from House Décès, the destruction of his line, and the end of his devastating rule over their country, Domaine-Des-Dieux, she remained in the city, far from her family and friends in Le-Voux.

“Ah, youth, and youthful flings,” the Duke sighed, smiling down at both of them.

“It’s not,” Luc protested under his breath.

“In any case, there’s no need for tearful goodbyes just yet! I’ve been summoned to the capitol myself. I’ll set off within the week. Luc, if you’re in need of a caravan, consider yourself invited.”

Luc bowed again. “Thank you, but I want to—”

“Do it yourself? With your wooden sword and, what, hopes and dreams? Don’t be stupid, Luc. Even weathered Chassers travel in caravans when they have the option,” Yvon said, waving his words away.

“Er,” Luc said, taken aback. “I… I’ve prepared…”

“Prepared how? By staking out tents in the backyard? Eating dandelion roots and trapping rabbits? Don’t be ridiculous, Luc. There’s monsters beyond the walls. You’ve seen them,” Yvon said.

“It’s good to be ambitious, but not too ambitious. You’ll have plenty of time to become a magnificent warrior once you get to the capitol,” the Duke said, nodding.

Luc shifted his bag to his hand, feeling the weight of the coins within. I figured I’d have to work for some time to gather the gear to head to the capitol, or to buy passage on a caravan, if that proved impossible. I shouldn’t turn down this offer. The faster I get to the capitol, the sooner I can find a real teacher, the sooner I can catch up to Emilie.

“Then, thank you for the offer,” Luc said, nodding.

“Oh! That reminds me. I have a gift for each of you.” The Duke nodded to Andre, who reached into the carriage and drew out a pair of packages. One, long and slender, Andre handed to Luc; the other, broad and triangular, to Yvon.

Luc took it. Feeling the weight and the shape, Luc’s eyes lit up. He tore apart the brown paper to reveal a sword, white-bladed and slender. He turned it over in his hands, then sliced the air, cutting apart an imaginary adversary. Unlike his clumsy wooden sword, the white sword danced in his hands, light as a feather and perfectly balanced.

“Made from the bone of a griffon, it’s lightweight and durable. I had it specifically crafted with you in mind,” the Duke explained, proud of the sword.

Yvon carefully removed the paper from his gift to reveal a wood-and-metal mechanism, a little longer than his forearm. A broad arc marked its front, and a long wooden crossbeam held it together. “A crossbow?” he asked, more curious than excited.

“No matter who we are, even scholars, we must be prepared to defend ourselves. The world is a dangerous place, and particularly for two young men like yourselves,” the Duke advised.

Yvon turned it over and shrugged. “I’d rather have a book.”

“A formidable weapon in its own right, but I’d rather see you alive if we come across some brute in the wilds. Practice with that bow. You should be able to fire at least three bolts a minute when we leave at the end of the week,” the Duke returned.

He reached out to Andre. The older man helped him mount the carriage. At the top of the stairs, he turned back and nodded to the two of them. “Then, I’ll see you in a week.”

Luc bowed, thankful. Yvon ducked his head. The Duke vanished into the carriage and rode off, leaving them at the side of the road.

Luc chuckled. He elbowed Yvon. “Brute force wins out in the end, huh?”

Yvon scowled. “Stuff it!”