Chapter 53
Midway through the same week that had seen Alistar beaten and bloodied, the male house servants set up an old bookcase of polished, stained oak along the wall near his bed. This was courtesy of his uncle Caedmon, a gesture that he appreciated greatly. He made it a point to pack each of the four shelves with various books from the library, which he had handpicked to suit his interests. Many of them made mention of Alta, but never more than a paragraph of broad commentary at random places throughout the works. This lack of information eventually intrigued him to the point of frustration, so he decided to see if his old Drunish friend knew anything on the subject.
Apparently, Alta had been a large empire in the past, and was now a moderately-sized kingdom. The reason that so little information was available on it was that the kingdom was regarded as a dangerous, backwater place that was on bad terms with the other powers of the continent. That was the extent of Mr. Herst’s knowledge on the subject, or at least the limit to what he was willing to tell him. Since information on the area was so sparse, Alistar began to compile his own list of data by copying tidbits from other sources onto a single document, which he updated whenever he found the time.
Once, Anice had stolen the roll of parchment from his drawer, but he’d easily wrestled it away from her before she could read much of its contents. As an apology for being rough, he’d skipped his sword practice and gone off to play with her by the gardens. They’d played tag for hours and surprisingly she hadn’t cheated. It had been fun, and had made him wish that he got along better with the other children. He’d only ever played with one person at a time, and wondered what it would be like to play with a whole group of people.
As time passed and June drew to an end, Alistar grew more aware of the distance between him and others his age. Not just those that attended lessons at the Hanging Hill, but even with the other kids in the lecture hall that was located in the basement of the cathedral.
During his baptism—a quiet, candlelit ceremony with only his family and a humble old priest in attendance—he’d carefully echoed all he was meant to repeat, recited a few prayers that he had been told to memorize beforehand, and accepted his silver oval of worship without any trouble. Every Sunday following the ceremony, he and his family would make their way down North Street when the grass was still wet with dew, alongside dozens of other townsfolk that were all headed to the same destination. Eventually, they would make the lengthy climb up the steps of the grand staircase and into the towering splendor of the massive cathedral. After every mass, Caedmon personally led Alistar and Anice to one of the many basement rooms where they joined the other children of noble birth for lessons on religion.
Nobody seemed to like his cousin, and by affiliation, nobody seemed fond of him either. They always sat at the back of the group, usually accompanied by Lessa, Anice’s only friend that ever attended. Alistar was too shy to talk to her, so he fervently paid attention to the lessons that the two girls ignored.
As had become a habit at the Hanging Hill, he had asked many questions during the earlier classes, but this drew animosity from the other children so he quickly stopped. He hadn’t been critical in the least, only curious. Yet still, their attitudes had been clear. How could someone question the holy words of scripture?
These days, he kept his mouth shut and listened with astute attention to detail. The contents of the lessons were taken directly from the Holy Book, which Alistar had read some time ago. To him these lessons were a waste of his precious time, but he suffered through the simple teachings in order to appease his uncle, and also with the hopes of making at least one more friend in his Sunday classes. He tried his best to be kind to the other children, but this became increasingly difficult since his friendly greetings were generally ignored.
Since he’d met them, Alistar had been following along after the Dozen at least twice a week. They didn’t take much notice of him, but he did pick up on some new phrases and a few curse words after hanging around them for so long. As it was, his efforts at forging new friendships were at a standstill.
Several weeks before his tenth birthday, things changed.
Alistar had just finished up with his morning lessons at the collegia and was now on his way to the Hanging Hill. Today’s practice had been particularly brutal, his muscles so sore that he felt as if he’d just put in a full day of mining along the work line. After half an hour of meditation, he had sparred with his master for over four hours, pausing here and there for rest or instruction. His confidence had been growing in recent weeks, but today’s struggles had opened his eyes to a sobering reality. He might be strong when compared to others his age, but in comparison to the average adult, he was hopelessly weak. Tramon hadn’t broken a sweat, and Alistar hadn’t landed a single hit. Rather, he had gained dozens of welts and bruises, his clothes completely drenched with sweat.