Attaining The Mark by Joshua (J.E.) Dyer
Kanja.”
“Very well,” Ardymon said. “Then you are dismissed. A room has been prepared for you on the top floor. One of the officials will summon you from there when the elders are ready for the test to commence. Good day, and good luck!”
Layol followed his Kanja back out into the long corridor. They walked a few paces before the tall white-haired man came to a sudden halt. Bennegraf rested his chin in his aged fingers, and stroked the thin patch of hair under his lower lip.
“Hmm. I believe that the switch was in this general area last time,” he turned to Layol, “wasn’t it?”
The boy shrugged. Had he even heard his Kanja’s question? Pressure had a way of doing that to him. Bennegraf waved his hand in front of his face and another small thin screen pulsed into existence.
“Hah! I knew it,” the mage said. “Come, my boy.”
Layol twitched his freckled nose and stepped in to Bennegraf’s side. After his master pressed a series of buttons, a small light blue disc appeared under their feet.
“Ready?” the mage asked.
“Yes, Kanja,” Layol replied. His thoughts drifted elsewhere.
The thin blue disc levitated the two men up toward the ceiling and then through it. They passed on, sailing thru several hallways, labs, and study areas before coming to rest next to a small window on an empty floor. Bennegraf stepped off the disc and made his way down the empty hall.
Layol stayed behind for a moment, as he always did. It had become a little game. Stand on the disc for a little while longer – then see if you could jump off and touch ground before it disintegrated. This attempt turned out like all of the others; Layol lost the race. He walked over and looked out the small window into the clear skies. The apprentice peered off over the foothills ahead and out into the reaches of Rymon. The capitol city of Melborne was visible, but barely. Tiny buildings and structures gleamed in the distant glory of the Suul. Sicon was a big world – he knew that from his studies in school. He only hoped that he would get to see all of it one day, if his duties of healing and peacekeeping would allow it.
“Layol,” his Kanja interrupted. “Come. We have only a little time left before your test. Let’s practice a little more to be safe.”
“Oh, my apologies, master. I was just --” the boy began.
Bennegraf started to chuckle. He had almost forgotten what it was like to be a child.
“Think nothing of it. You were nowhere in the wrong,” the mage said.
Bennegraf opened the door to the small room and waved for his apprentice to follow. Layol slid between his Kanja and the door frame to the petite room with a single bed and plopped down on the mattress. The wizened mage pulled the door shut and stood next to him.
“Now,” the boy’s mentor began, “fall into your meditative state, and we’ll work on your strategy.”
Layol closed his eyes and took slow deep deliberate lung-filling breaths. The realm of reality around him melted away into a serene shifting pool of color and light.
“Excellent,” the mage said. “Now, go through each and every move of your attack strategies. Take them very slow. Feel each muscle shifting beneath your skin. Good.”
His master’s voice faded into the swirling spectrum around him. Layol was, in his mind’s eye, taking the test at that very moment.
Knock… Knock… Knock…
“Layol?” a voice on the other side of their door asked.
The boy slid back into consciousness with speed and ease.
“Is it time?” Bennegraf asked.
“Yes,” the voice said. “Please report to the gardens on the upper platform for the test.”
“Thank you. We will be there in moments,” the mage said.
A high-pitched gong rang in even intervals as the lanky boy made his way through the gates. The large stone arches stood coated in leafy green foliage. His opponent awaited his arrival on the far side of the gardens. The boy made his way onto the soft green turf and toed the red line in the short grass. The gong rang a single time. Layol and his muscular competitor turned and bowed to the elders seated on a platform overlooking the sparring grounds. The gong resounded once more. They turned to face one another and bowed in respect.
On the next chime of the gong, the two assumed their defensive postures. Layol crouched with one arm angled over his head and the other in front of him. His competitor flexed his fists forward to form a diamond with his arms. The two combatants circled one another like hungry cats. Then the muscular man launched an assault. He came rushing in on Layol’s right flank, and leaped into the air spinning as he elevated. The boy anticipated the blow and ducked to the turf. The foot of his assailant cut harmlessly through the air. Seeing that his opponent had one foot on the ground, Layol swiped his right leg around to take the man’s foundation out. His husky frame fell to the grass with an audible thud.
The gong sounded. The white-robed official raised an arm over Layol.
“Point!” the short man shouted.
The two competitors stood back on their line.
“Ready? Begin!”
The gong resonated again. The tree behind Layol’s opponent waivered as he drew on its energy. The boy shifted back and forth on his feet feeling out his adversary’s next move. The dark-haired man brought his open hands into his chest, and thrust them out toward the boy. A forceful blast of wind swept through the gardens knocking over the smaller shrubs and statues that adorned its perimeter. Layol moved to the side and drew his hands into his chest. The gust of his competitor rattled him as he raised his arms over his head. The wind’s force proved too great, and Layol toppled to the ground.
They returned to their lines once more, and on the tone re-engaged. This time the boy’s opposition ran headlong at him. Layol stretched his arms out to his sides, and swept them above his head. A small orb of glowing yellow light formed between his palms. When his contender got within a few paces, Layol thrust his hands at the man releasing his attack. It struck his opponent square in the chest and stopped him in his tracks. Layol rushed in for the quick kick to the face for the second take down.
“Point!” the official proclaimed.
The two moved to their lines a third time, and commenced upon the gong’s toll. Layol’s opponent growled through clenched jaws.
“No more child’s play, boy!”
The brute ran to the rack of weaponry against the wall at his back and took a sword. His adversary charged him with the sword raised over his thick shoulders before Layol could turn to get to his own. Right before his competitor swung the blade, Layol stretched his legs wide and fell to the grass. The man swung the blade down through the crisp air intending to split the boy’s skull in half.
Layol lowered his head, and his eyes went shut. The world melted into darkness before morphing into a pool of colors. The sound of a rushing torrent grew louder and louder until it shook the boy. When the sound had reached its peak, Layol clapped his hands together. When he opened his eyes, Layol found the blade of the sword clutched between his open hands. A low guttural chant grew from out of the boy’s chest. The blade of the weapon melted before his opponent’s eyes.
Layol grabbed the hilt of the ruined weapon and thrust its blunt side into the forehead of the stout man. His challenger staggered backward and collapsed to the ground unconscious. The gong rang a final time. The elders above the gardens stood and bowed to the boy. Layol returned the salute, and then jumped in the air unable to contain his excitement.
“Congratulations, Layol!” Ardymon shouted. “Let it be known throughout all of Sicon that on this day, Layol, apprentice of Bennegraf, has attained mastery on the final of the lower levels of the art! Layol, as a mage, you may elect to enter into the Order to study the higher levels of mastery. Do you enter?”
“Yes, Master Kanja, I elect to enter!” the boy replied -- his voice full of life.
“Then, Brother Layol, report to the Engraver to receive your mark. We feast in your honor at suuldown!”
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“Very well,” Ardymon said. “Then you are dismissed. A room has been prepared for you on the top floor. One of the officials will summon you from there when the elders are ready for the test to commence. Good day, and good luck!”
Layol followed his Kanja back out into the long corridor. They walked a few paces before the tall white-haired man came to a sudden halt. Bennegraf rested his chin in his aged fingers, and stroked the thin patch of hair under his lower lip.
“Hmm. I believe that the switch was in this general area last time,” he turned to Layol, “wasn’t it?”
The boy shrugged. Had he even heard his Kanja’s question? Pressure had a way of doing that to him. Bennegraf waved his hand in front of his face and another small thin screen pulsed into existence.
“Hah! I knew it,” the mage said. “Come, my boy.”
Layol twitched his freckled nose and stepped in to Bennegraf’s side. After his master pressed a series of buttons, a small light blue disc appeared under their feet.
“Ready?” the mage asked.
“Yes, Kanja,” Layol replied. His thoughts drifted elsewhere.
The thin blue disc levitated the two men up toward the ceiling and then through it. They passed on, sailing thru several hallways, labs, and study areas before coming to rest next to a small window on an empty floor. Bennegraf stepped off the disc and made his way down the empty hall.
Layol stayed behind for a moment, as he always did. It had become a little game. Stand on the disc for a little while longer – then see if you could jump off and touch ground before it disintegrated. This attempt turned out like all of the others; Layol lost the race. He walked over and looked out the small window into the clear skies. The apprentice peered off over the foothills ahead and out into the reaches of Rymon. The capitol city of Melborne was visible, but barely. Tiny buildings and structures gleamed in the distant glory of the Suul. Sicon was a big world – he knew that from his studies in school. He only hoped that he would get to see all of it one day, if his duties of healing and peacekeeping would allow it.
“Layol,” his Kanja interrupted. “Come. We have only a little time left before your test. Let’s practice a little more to be safe.”
“Oh, my apologies, master. I was just --” the boy began.
Bennegraf started to chuckle. He had almost forgotten what it was like to be a child.
“Think nothing of it. You were nowhere in the wrong,” the mage said.
Bennegraf opened the door to the small room and waved for his apprentice to follow. Layol slid between his Kanja and the door frame to the petite room with a single bed and plopped down on the mattress. The wizened mage pulled the door shut and stood next to him.
“Now,” the boy’s mentor began, “fall into your meditative state, and we’ll work on your strategy.”
Layol closed his eyes and took slow deep deliberate lung-filling breaths. The realm of reality around him melted away into a serene shifting pool of color and light.
“Excellent,” the mage said. “Now, go through each and every move of your attack strategies. Take them very slow. Feel each muscle shifting beneath your skin. Good.”
His master’s voice faded into the swirling spectrum around him. Layol was, in his mind’s eye, taking the test at that very moment.
Knock… Knock… Knock…
“Layol?” a voice on the other side of their door asked.
The boy slid back into consciousness with speed and ease.
“Is it time?” Bennegraf asked.
“Yes,” the voice said. “Please report to the gardens on the upper platform for the test.”
“Thank you. We will be there in moments,” the mage said.
A high-pitched gong rang in even intervals as the lanky boy made his way through the gates. The large stone arches stood coated in leafy green foliage. His opponent awaited his arrival on the far side of the gardens. The boy made his way onto the soft green turf and toed the red line in the short grass. The gong rang a single time. Layol and his muscular competitor turned and bowed to the elders seated on a platform overlooking the sparring grounds. The gong resounded once more. They turned to face one another and bowed in respect.
On the next chime of the gong, the two assumed their defensive postures. Layol crouched with one arm angled over his head and the other in front of him. His competitor flexed his fists forward to form a diamond with his arms. The two combatants circled one another like hungry cats. Then the muscular man launched an assault. He came rushing in on Layol’s right flank, and leaped into the air spinning as he elevated. The boy anticipated the blow and ducked to the turf. The foot of his assailant cut harmlessly through the air. Seeing that his opponent had one foot on the ground, Layol swiped his right leg around to take the man’s foundation out. His husky frame fell to the grass with an audible thud.
The gong sounded. The white-robed official raised an arm over Layol.
“Point!” the short man shouted.
The two competitors stood back on their line.
“Ready? Begin!”
The gong resonated again. The tree behind Layol’s opponent waivered as he drew on its energy. The boy shifted back and forth on his feet feeling out his adversary’s next move. The dark-haired man brought his open hands into his chest, and thrust them out toward the boy. A forceful blast of wind swept through the gardens knocking over the smaller shrubs and statues that adorned its perimeter. Layol moved to the side and drew his hands into his chest. The gust of his competitor rattled him as he raised his arms over his head. The wind’s force proved too great, and Layol toppled to the ground.
They returned to their lines once more, and on the tone re-engaged. This time the boy’s opposition ran headlong at him. Layol stretched his arms out to his sides, and swept them above his head. A small orb of glowing yellow light formed between his palms. When his contender got within a few paces, Layol thrust his hands at the man releasing his attack. It struck his opponent square in the chest and stopped him in his tracks. Layol rushed in for the quick kick to the face for the second take down.
“Point!” the official proclaimed.
The two moved to their lines a third time, and commenced upon the gong’s toll. Layol’s opponent growled through clenched jaws.
“No more child’s play, boy!”
The brute ran to the rack of weaponry against the wall at his back and took a sword. His adversary charged him with the sword raised over his thick shoulders before Layol could turn to get to his own. Right before his competitor swung the blade, Layol stretched his legs wide and fell to the grass. The man swung the blade down through the crisp air intending to split the boy’s skull in half.
Layol lowered his head, and his eyes went shut. The world melted into darkness before morphing into a pool of colors. The sound of a rushing torrent grew louder and louder until it shook the boy. When the sound had reached its peak, Layol clapped his hands together. When he opened his eyes, Layol found the blade of the sword clutched between his open hands. A low guttural chant grew from out of the boy’s chest. The blade of the weapon melted before his opponent’s eyes.
Layol grabbed the hilt of the ruined weapon and thrust its blunt side into the forehead of the stout man. His challenger staggered backward and collapsed to the ground unconscious. The gong rang a final time. The elders above the gardens stood and bowed to the boy. Layol returned the salute, and then jumped in the air unable to contain his excitement.
“Congratulations, Layol!” Ardymon shouted. “Let it be known throughout all of Sicon that on this day, Layol, apprentice of Bennegraf, has attained mastery on the final of the lower levels of the art! Layol, as a mage, you may elect to enter into the Order to study the higher levels of mastery. Do you enter?”
“Yes, Master Kanja, I elect to enter!” the boy replied -- his voice full of life.
“Then, Brother Layol, report to the Engraver to receive your mark. We feast in your honor at suuldown!”
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