His First Week
He had managed to fall down. Again.
Why won't the damn nightmares leave me? Douglas wondered as he sat up gingerly – aware that he was still very groggy and anyway the bruise caused by the idiotic Samuel hadn't gone, and so any quick motion would definitely cause another series of quick, stab-like pain – and rubbed his head. It throbbed angrily, especially since he had landed on the same spot for at least the third day successively. His eyes were closed, furrowed now as his fuzzy mind tried to remember what day it was today. He knew an event had occurred yesterday – but what was it? Matthew sleeping during a Geography lesson? No, that wasn't important, or relevant. Then what was?
Ah. He recollected it now. The Choosing Day. The relief he felt must've chased away all the apprehension that he had experienced over the Day. They came back now, though. He had made a rash decision when he said so, when he had announced his choice School. He had wondered almost instantly after that if he had been too quick. After all, he might have a chance to get into Battle School. But he had spoken; he couldn't take back the words. Then, when the Baron asked him how would he be accepted, seeing the Ranger wasn't even present, he had proceeded even more recklessly, saying he would simply go to his cabin and ask, all the while thinking, What the heck, so what? Hang the consequences, I'll go there.
He wasn't sure he could. He knew people thought of them as sorcerers, and even though he didn't believe so, after the Ranger had suddenly spoken, suddenly popped out, he began to consider if the notion was correct. He started to worry, thinking how would the Rangers be like, how his mentor's personality was.
Abruptly, he shook his head, then regretted the movement. It somehow made the bashed part of his head hurt even more. Swaying slightly, and clasping his hand tighter against the spot, he opened his bleary eyes, seeing figures as equally blurry, vague images that temporarily grew doubles, which seemed to disappear and come out again. Douglas didn't realise that it was caused by his slight swinging around. He rubbed at his eyes hard, trying to improve his vision, yawning hugely as he did so.
I want to sleep... The thought suddenly shot up. No. He couldn't. It wouldn't do to let his new Craft Master wait for him. And he had another second reason – Matthew. The boy was waking up, if he saw Douglas still in his bed, the latter would be in for a very rough awakening. He had learned that lesson once, but even that single session left him with no desire to try and snatch a bit more sleep.
Douglas could hear the bed groaning loudly as Matthew turned over, face-up. That meant that he was returning to consciousness; Matthew never tossed around in his bed, unless he was awake. As if to confirm that, Douglas heard a groan, similar to the bed, from Matthew. It turned into a yawn, a loud, drawn-out one.
'' 'Morning, Matt," Douglas greeted, standing up, then lamented that action. It made his head spin, and his head was already grumpy. He exhaled sharply, almost missing the sleepy " 'Morning, Doug" that came from Matthew. Douglas looked around at the former, making sure he turned around slowly. He didn't want to continue torturing his head, though the pain was starting to recede, but too slow for his liking.
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Several glasses of water drunk and splashed on his face later, Douglas was feeling much, much more awake. His head seemed to be less grumpy, a few gentle massages and the pain had gone down to being a dull, ignorable ache.
Douglas threw the mug's remaining water at his head, shuddering as he felt the cold water tricking down his back and chest. Using his hands as a very crude model of a comb – the actual one having disappeared to who-knew-where – he attempted to smooth his untamed hair. He didn't succeed, as usual.
He gave up the task, tromped into the room that he and Matthew shared, even though his footsteps weren't loud. Years of moving silently and the fact that he was parading around barefoot made so. Matthew barely glanced up at him, accustomed to his roommate's bizarre moods.
Throwing his bag down on his bed unceremoniously, Douglas began hunting for his belongings, grumbling to himself about how his clothes seemed to appear in totally random places.
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Gilan stretched himself, releasing a long 'Ahh'. He opened his door to a small, but not poky, and cozy cabin. He had gone out early in the morning to accompany his wife, Jenny, to her famous restaurant in Whitby Fief, with food and beverages toothsome enough to rival Master Glenn, the Kitchen Master of the same Fief.
As he entered his home, closing the door shut behind him, he sat down on a chair, sighing deeply. Today was going to be a really long day of nothing but reports. The only distraction would be his new apprentice. He was going to arrive soon, Gilan thought.
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Douglas trudged up to the Ranger cabin. He paused for a while, thinking of the Ranger's name, then remembered. Gilan. He resumed his pace, watching the path his feet was on, a trail which lead to his new home, where he would stay for the next five to six years. He stumbled slightly on the uneven steps, then managed to retain his balance. He hesitated for a while, hoping that the Ranger Gilan was not a practitioner of the Black Art, then knocked on his door. He heard the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, then the door seemingly opened by itself. Douglas started slightly, how come he had never heard the sound of a footstep? Even one would tell him that the Ranger was coming, but no, he didn't hear the a single noise at all.
''Come in,'' A strangely amused voice told him. Douglas looked up at the speaker, Gilan. He sported slightly windswept bronze-coloured hair, with hazel eyes. They seemed cold, yet warm. Douglas glanced away from his mentor to study the cabin.
It was made up of a living room. There was a fireplace and several chairs surrounding it. A table besides the chairs had its surface vanished under a burial of papers. Douglas wondered how his mentor managed to prevent the papers from falling to the floor. A chair was near the table, with a cloak draped over the back. It was mottled gray and green, extremely dull. A mantel shelf opposite the table held a vase of vivid-coloured wild flowers. Now that he saw the plants, he realised that the air was suffused with a rather fragrant smell.
''Your room is there,'' Gilan said. Douglas glanced at him to find him pointing at a closed door. Perhaps Gilan wasn't a sorcerer. His cabin didn't seem like one anyway; they were supposed to be full of toads and newts and have a cauldron in the exact middle of the room.
Douglas obliged, entering the room and then closing the door. He dumped his bag on the bed, again setting his eyes to examine his bedroom. It was quite the poky room. He could probably touch the entire length of the room, if a, he grew a bit taller and b, stretched his hands and toes. It had a simple bed, drawer, table and chair. Another vase, if slightly smaller, was on the top of the drawer. It contained another bunch of wild flowers. Now that he was in a smaller room, he could smell the perfume of the floras much more strongly. Douglas stared out of the window, watching the shadow of a bird move across the leafy ground speedily.
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Leaning against the wall, Douglas had waited for Gilan to acknowledge his presence. He didn't, he just continued writing. Time crept by. A minute seemed like an hour; an hour felt like a day. Douglas started fidgeting. Patience wasn't very high up on his strengths.
Eventually, after who-knew-how-long, Gilan finally turned around to face his apprentice. Some of his coldness seemed to have disappeared. ''So, boy, you know how to fight with a sword?" He questioned, seeing the swords that Douglas had forgot to put down with his bag. The latter nodded slowly, thinking if his mentor would take offense if he told him that his name was not 'boy' but 'Douglas'. He decided yes, he would, so it would probably be better to shut up. He realised now that his master was speaking.
''...test your sword-fighting skills later this week. For now, I'll want you to clean up.'' Gilan was saying.
''C-clean?'' Douglas repeated unbelievingly. ''Clean?''
''Yes, clean, boy, clean. The process by which you remove substances such as dirt from a certain object. Got it?'' Gilan asked pointedly, then without a reply, plunged on, ''Right, I want you to fill up the water barrel, then sweep the floor. When you've done that, tell me.'' Douglas was askance. He hadn't imagined, hadn't taken in the factor that Ranger apprentices were supposed to do the housework. His choice, though. It was his choice.
Resigned, Douglas began the first task, then realised something. ''Ah...'' Douglas halted here, unsure of how to address his master. Gilan seemed to have anticipated the question, though, by answering for him, ''Just call me Gilan, boy, and the water barrel's outside. Broom and dustpan are in the kitchen."
Douglas tried to remember all of this. When he felt his brain had the locations in mind, he nodded slowly, then turned to head outside.
If he had looked back, he would've discovered Gilan with a ridiculously wide grin on his face.
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Ah, the joys of having an apprentice. Such fun. Gilan thought. Douglas's expressions were priceless. Indeed, they could've surpassed the Baron's comical face. He went into the kitchen, pouring himself a mug of steaming coffee, then helped himself generously to honey. Stirring it leisurely, he began to settle down for a dull morning of reading and writing reports.
Gilan soon discovered that while his apprentice may be excellent at tasks such as sweeping the floor, he was terrible at washing dishes. Barely fifteen minutes and a dish had landed on the wooden floor, colliding and breaking into jagged pieces. A bout of cursing followed shortly after. Gilan frowned, then shrugged it aside. He had broken some of Halt's plates as well, hadn't he? As long as he didn't break Jenny's favourite set, Gilan was okay with it. And the plates and all from the set could never be broken – Jenny didn't allow anyone to come near it, trusting only herself to clean it. But after another two more plates had been broken, Gilan stopped his work again. He decided he had better look at why his apprentice was suddenly being so bear-like.
He soon found out why.
''What? How the... on earth did you manage to do that?'' Gilan asked incredulously, staring at his apprentice, who was looking very
Shrugging uncomfortably, Douglas answered, ''Well... you told me to clean, didn't you? So that's what I did. I dried them as well. So... while I was doing this... I don't know how, but the plate just slipped. It fell down... you can see that.
''Ah... then... so I wanted to sweep up. I got the broom out, but then my elbow banged against the dish, so it got broken. I swept it up, broke another dish, which led to you being here.'' Douglas finished.
''Hmm. Fine, then. Clean up, but, make sure you do it correctly. I don't need another broken plate. Then I want you to replenish the wood stock. We're running out of firewood. You'll find the trees just behind the cabin. When you're done, place the firewood outside the cabin.'' Gilan told his apprentice. He watched the boy's blank face as he tried absorbed the entire chunk of information Gilan had thrown at him.
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Cooking... well, it was weird, Douglas concluded. After the shower, he had went back to the kitchen, where he was introduced to a new area of learning which involved hacking green vegetables with a large knife, then using another knife to slice some beef – was it beef? - and making cubes. Add them into a boiling pot of clean water, plus some herbs and other odd ingredients. The end result was a pot of stew. Douglas watched the procedure, his teacher having learned that while the former may be extremely agile, that nimbleness deserted him when he entered the kitchen premises. And this would be a perfect excuse for Gilan to see how great his reserves of patience was.
It wasn't a lot.
A minute had passed after the pot had the water boiled, when Douglas began to fidget. He started toying with a previously unseen thick rope. It hung, plaited, around his wrist. It was loose, but not so detached that the rope-bracelet would drop off. ''Just stand still,'' Gilan said, grinning as he carefully shoved the meat-cubes into the pot.
Douglas did that, but within seconds he was back to fiddling with the bracelet.
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''Right. Clean – no, wait, don't –''
''I can wash up perfectly fine, Gilan. If I break one plate... well, you can set me more tasks to do, or something.'' Douglas told Gilan irritably. Without waiting for his reply, Douglas gathered up the stacked dishes and stalked off to the kitchen.
Gilan watched anxiously, slowly relaxing as he took a sip of coffee from his cup. He had offered Douglas a cup of coffee with honey in it. Douglas had eyed it suspiciously, then tentatively sipped from it.
Almost immediately, his face went through excessively comical expressions – first surprise, then repulsion, then finally disgusted tolerance as the few drops of honeyed coffee dropped into his stomach.
''How can you stand that?" Douglas finally asked, taking careful gulps of hot coffee that was safely unpolluted by the honey. ''You'll learn to appreciate it,'' Gilan promised, grinning. He already had a plan for reluctant honey-coffee drinkers.
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In the evening, over mugs of honeyed coffee, or in the case of Douglas, plain old coffee, they sat down, learning about history and geography. Gilan was pleased to note that Douglas displayed keen interest in both areas, especially the latter. He was equally happy to observe that the boy hadn't realise that he was drinking coffee with honey in it – he had spooned in only a few drops of it into the coffee, mixed it around so it wouldn't be detectable. Taking one small step at a time, Gilan thought, smiling.
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His fourth day.
Douglas exited the cabin with his master in front. He fingered the hilt of his sword, feeling the familiar nervousness cloud his thinking. He had finished the housework, and Gilan had managed to find free time to test his sword fighting. ''Right, we'll begin," Gilan announced, breaking the daze that his apprentice was in. He took advantage of that fact, though Douglas learned later that he had been in that trance for a few minutes.
Douglas snapped his head up, looking at his mentor, then swayed to his left dangerously, seeing the older man perform an overhand. In a move instinctive from countless of practice bouts, he unsheathed his sword, then had to jump back almost immediately, seeing Gilan launch his sword in a side cut.
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The boy is good, but he needs more practice.
Gilan thought as he studied the boy's skill. Thirty minutes had passed, thirty minutes of Gilan taking the initiative, like what Halt had told him – a man who attacked was in control of the battle. The boy just kept defending. And now, thirty minutes later, he could see that Douglas was flagging. Sweat was tricking down his tanned face, making him positively gleam, like a bronze statue, albeit one that could move freely. His breaths were coming raggedly, yet he was still unwilling to give up. Stubborn would describe him well. He managed to block Gilan's blows when he couldn't avoid it, hacked at Gilan's unprotected parts if he couldn't block or avoid, in any combinations.
Finally, Gilan's sword got past the opponent's guard. Surprised, Gilan halted the sword, just in time. His sword hovered dangerously close to Douglas's head.
''Yield,'' Douglas said, taking a few steps back, out of reach. Without permission, not that he needed it, his apprentice walked over to a grassy patch and flopped down on it, though after sheathing his sword. His flushed cheeks were hard to see under his dark skin tone. ''Good fight,'' Gilan told him. A grin flashed, revealing crooked but white teeth. Gilan saw it and, remembering what hismentor said when he had graduated: ''Don't ever, if you get an apprentice, praise them – that'd lead to arrogance, overestimating themselves and mistakes will be made.''
Hence, he quickly added, ''You'd need more practice, though, if you want to make to last longer in combat with me.'' He was pretty sure that Douglas just needed more tactics, endless practice and he'd become an expert swordsman. Though...
''Why do you carrying two swords?'' He asked.
''Dual swords? A habit, I guess. In case, if my sword is stuck somewhere in an enemy's body, I can have another one out.'' Douglas answered. Gilan nodded, though he thought it seemed to be a lie. Then –
''Where do you learn your fighting skills from?''
He saw Douglas's spine stiffen as he froze, his nostrils momentarily flaring. Then he recovered himself. ''Just a friend of my dad.'' He told Gilan evenly.
Douglas's reaction left Gilan in no doubt that he shouldn't question about his past. Not now, at least. Not now.
''Right, you must be hungry, eh?'' Gilan asked, seeing the trees around them no longer having long shadows. They, instead, formed rough circles around the trees. So it would be pretty close to lunch, Gilan reasoned. More evidence came in the form of his rumbling stomach.
Douglas nodded. ''Okay. Take a set of clothes and bathe. Then when you're done, come back to the kitchen. You'll cook.'' He ordered. He heard an agreement from his apprentice as he got up and entered the cabin.
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The last day of his first week.
''Why are you smiling so oddly?'' Douglas questioned. Gilan looked up, realising a broad smile had spread across his face while he was recollecting the incident. ''Nothing, let's go. I want to see how well you shoot arrows and throw knives.''
Without pause, Gilan collected his cloak and swung it around his shoulders. He gathered his weapons and strode out of his cabin, trusting that Douglas would close the door. The happiness of having an apprentice was indeed outweighing the misery of having one.
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Finally, the duo reached a mini-clearing. Douglas's annoyance had faded when he saw Gilan slipping in and out of view. Curious, he had asked why. Gilan had showed him how, by using the shadows of trees as covers. He didn't know it, of course, but Gilan was pleased with Douglas; the boy may not have been born with sneak skills, but he was able to move silently. That counted for a lot – more training would turn him into a master of unseen movement.
''Why are we here?'' Douglas asked again, then noticed the dull bundle on the forest floor. ''Take it,'' Gilan said, noticing his attention on the bag. He complied, opening a set of relatively simple and common weapons.
A longbow, Douglas noted. It was unstrung, of course. Several arrows laid besides the bow. Then, Douglas saw two knives. One was short, but broad. The hilt was odd, it made the weapon look a bit like a triangle, except that there was a rectangular piece of wood that formed the crosspiece. The other was, in comparison, narrow and long. It looked to be suited for throwing.
Douglas picked up the longbow, quite unimpressed. His opinion of it changed, though, as he saw the shape and structure of it. He stood up, before stringing it, giving out a surprised grunt at the effort it took. When it was done, he looked at Gilan.
''Shoot.'' Gilan simply said, his lips twitching. Douglas frowned at him for a long moment, earning a frown. ''You do know how to shoot an arrow with a bow, right?''
''Of course I know!'' Douglas said, offended that Gilan should cast doubt on his archery.
A mistake.
He nocked an arrow, drew and fired at a tree. Then, almost immediately, the bowstring slapped itself angrily against Douglas's arm, who yelped and jerked his arm. The arrow flew from the bow with little force, landing away from the intended target by at least eight meters. He lowered the bow, rubbing the injured spot, which was already spotting a nice shade of red, though hardly visible. ''I needed the vambrace, didn't I? Why didn't you tell me?'' His tone was almost accusing.
Gilan grinned. ''Well, perhaps this has taught you that you'll need to think twicebefore you act, eh?'' He said, putting emphasis on the word twice.
He took out the arm guard, fastening it on to Douglas's arm. ''Now aim again.'' Gilan told him. Douglas glared at him suspiciously, then obliged, bringing the bow up to another target, aimed and released.
Again, the arrow flew from the bow. It thudded into the target, but Douglas had misjudged the strength of the wind, hence the arrow wasn't quite in the center. ''Good. More – ''
'' – Practice, yes. I know that.'' Douglas interrupted, finishing Gilan's sentence. He thought he sounded eerily like his ex-mentor. Gilan smiled at him. ''Clip on the knives, I think – '' Gilan paused and glanced at the shadows, '' – that we'll test your knife-throwing skills.''
''Ah... what do you call that two knives?'' Douglas asked curiously. The older man smiled. ''They're a Ranger's knives. With them, you'll learn the double knife sword defence, although your swords cover that pretty well. It's still a good back-up weapon, though.
''It's also used for throwing. The longer one is called the saxe knife. It used to be called a sea axe, but then they slid together to form the word. The shorter one can be used for stunning your enemy – that's why the hilt is so broad. But enough of asking questions – throw them at a target.'' Gilan finished. Funny... Douglas mused, I only asked for the names of the knives, and then it turned into history and then I'm accused of asking too many questions. It was only one!
Douglas clipped on the knives. It took a bit of jostling to finally be able to slide out both swords and knives without any fault. When it was done, Gilan repeated the order to throw.
It was surprisingly flawless. Both knives struck in the center of a tree, even though the wind was stronger. Perhaps the extra weight was the cause. The only imperfection was withdrawing the knife, but that could be easily remedied. And then there was one last thing.
''Your cloak,'' Gilan told Douglas. He watched his apprentice break out into a smile. Quickly, as he had seen Gilan done so, he swung it around his shoulders and fastened it. ''It'll help you in becoming... invisible. Even if you don't have it, though, there's no problem – it just makes life less complicated. Now, let's go back home.'' Gilan said cheerfully, thinking of Jenny's food. Life was great at the moment.
A/N: Yay third chapter! =DD I'm hyper.
Urgh. Leaving school is definitely not fun. Reverse physcology acting again! DD= lol. Side note; since it's the holidays, and I'll be able to finally get a new computer which can let me play PKO, I won't really be as quick in updating. I have poor time management. But expect a new chapter at least every fortnight.